Natural Disaster
by A.L. Munro
Summary: AU - Katniss and Peeta never participated in the Hunger Games. A natural disaster and a certain blue eyed man turns Katniss's world upside down.
1. Prologue

**********************************Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters**

**Natural Disaster **

**Prologue **

"The wind is picking up," Gale mutters as we trudge towards the village laden with an abundance of game and berries. I gaze at the afternoon summer sky which has been torn and holed by the wind, a worried golden light casts itself down at all angles, transient, flashing out and then fading. Despite the erratic weather, the woods have so far this year been generous. As a result, Gale and I are able to trade liberally at the Hob and with the merchants in the village. However, on weekdays, and most Saturdays, I hunt and trade alone. Gale's only day off from the coal mines is Sunday, which makes it my favorite day of the week; we get to be together, just us, like old times. I grip tightly onto the warn leather of my game bag as the strong wind thrusts against us, whipping spirals of dust and dirt into our faces. I never did get a job after I left school, didn't seem necessary since hunting was the only real thing I was good at, and I wasn't too bad a trading either. The people in District 12 have come to somewhat rely on my weekly trade of meat and forest fruits and so this has become my main source of income to support Prim and my mother, and also to help Gale and his family.

"I wonder if there's a tornado coming," Gale ponders aloud as I rapidly blink dust from my eyes.

"I hope not," I grumble.

"It is early in the tornado season, maybe we should head back," Gale looks at me earnestly.

"Since we are so close to the bakery, we might as well trade with Mr. Mellark." I point towards the greying shabby building across the road. Gale shrugs undecidedly and I lead him to the back entrance and knock hastily on the worn wooden door; loose strands of my dark hair dance haphazardly across my face. Usually Mr. Mellark, a kind and generous man, greets us, but this time it is one of his sons. I recognize him, not just because we went to the same school, but from a particular incident, an act of kindness, that has forever been imprinted in my memory. Funnily enough, we have never spoken before, or after, he threw me the burnt bread that prevented me, Prim and mother from starving all those years ago. My eyes graze across his right cheek remembering the large welt he brought with him to school. He was not allowed to do what he did, to give bread to a Seam girl, and as a result his mother made him pay for his moment of weakness. He is a merchant and I am from the Seam, consorting in any way is frowned upon, except when it comes to illegal business and trade. Sadly, I realize I don't even know his name. I am taken aback by his bright blue eyes which remind of Prim; they exude the same gentleness and a similar honest warmth. This recognition makes me smile, something I do not often do, especially with strangers, well, if you can call him that. He smiles back and for some reason my stomach jolts with nerves. Gale nudges me and I step forward hesitantly. The wind whistles loudly and I brace myself as a particularly strong gust drives into me like a cattle prod. I feel Gale's hands steady me and I bat them away.

"My dad asked me to wait for you and make the payment," Mr. Mellark's son's voice is raised in order to be heard over the howls of wind. He grabs two large paper bags filled with freshly baked goods, most probably a loaf and a few bread rolls. Gale takes them from him. I had almost forgotten that Gale was there and he looks at me strangely, a discreetly raised eyebrow and the ghost of a smirk contort his usual stony features.

"Give him the squirrels and berries, Catnip," Gale nudges me again, I open my bag and pull out two dead squirrels and a small handkerchief of berries. I pass them to the blue eyed man and our fingers touch causing me to whip my hand back as if I had been burnt by a scorching hot flame. To my relief, the baker's son seems unfazed by my bad manners. At that very moment it dawns on me, as it has many times before, that I never thanked him for the burnt bread and, by the way this exchange is going, his past kindness will remain ostensibly unappreciated. I inwardly berate myself for being so reticent and so inexplicably awkward; not one word has yet passed my lips and I feel terribly uncomfortable.

"Thanks, Katniss," he smiles warmly and nods an acknowledgement to Gale, "My dad will be really pleased with the squirrels." I stare, open mouthed - he knows my name. "I'm Peeta, by the way," he smirks, "My dad did say you were good with a bow and arrow." Peeta looks impressively at the puncture made by my arrow through one of the squirrel's eyes. I feel heat rise into my cheeks, but before I can reply, Mr. Mellark comes running towards us, holding his hat to his head and clutching his coat tightly, fighting against the wind.

"Both of you need to go home immediately! There is a tornado watch, everyone is being told to stay indoors," Mr. Mellark practically barks at us. Gale grips my arm protectively.

"Come on." He begins to direct me away from the bakery. I turn to see Peeta standing at the door, watching us recede. He smiles and waves at me, I shyly wave back and stumble slightly as Gale continues to pull me in the direction of the Seam. After finding my footing, I search again for Peeta, but he has closed the door and I, for the life of me, cannot understand why disappointment twists through me like a raging whirlwind. A loud gust of air pulls me out of my thoughts and Gale's grip tightens on my arm. We don't speak as we hurriedly walk back to the Seam, the wind is too strong and we spend a lot of our time battling against it. We stop outside my house and stand just before the wooden stairs leading up to my porch. "Stay indoors and I'll see you later," he smiles, thrusting one of the paper bags of bread into my arms. I notice the bread inside is still warm. There are no other people about and a loose window shutter clunks and squeaks loudly in time with the wind.

"Stay safe," I shout as Gale walks away. He turns to look at me and smiles, gripping tightly onto his own bag of bread. Gale begins to jog towards his house and I watch until I lose sight of him. I take the wooden stairs quickly and open the rickety front door, knowing that Prim and my mother will be relieved to see me.

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**Please review! Critique is warmly welcomed. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 1

******Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Chapter 1**

Prim appears at my side before I have even shut the front door. "Katniss, we were worried," she sighs with relief. She is wearing a pretty floral dress and her long blonde hair is in a loose braid. I still can't get over how fast she has grown up. At 17, Prim is just as tall as me and looks more like our mother than ever before.

"Did you hear about the tornado watch?" I ask whilst setting my game bag on the floor and the paper bag of bread on the small wooden table. Prim nods, her blue eyes widening with anxiety. "You don't need to worry, Little Duck, we have survived tornadoes before." I casually slip off my boots and place them beside the door before walking over to her and pulling her into a hug. Our mother walks in, so I grip Prim tightly before pulling back. "I'll protect you," I smirk, pinching one of her cheeks.

Prim rolls her eyes. "I am not a kid anymore," she laughs, knowing that I am just trying to wind her up; she hates being treated like a kid. I briefly look at our mother who looks like she wants to say something, but doesn't. She hardly ever does. Prim grabs the bread bag and opens it, smelling the freshness that only comes from recently baked bread. She makes a surprised noise and takes out another smaller paper bag. "What's this?" she questions. I shrug nonchalantly, but I am intrigued. We only ever get the basics from Mr. Mellark and then I remember Peeta. He gave us today's trade; he must have put that in there, causing that unfamiliar knot in my stomach to twist. Prim carefully opens the smaller bag while I try and ignore the fact that my heart rate has doubled in speed. "Sugar cookies!" I grimace at her excited shriek.

"Not a kid anymore, huh?" I laugh slightly and roll my eyes as she practically jumps for joy before taking one cookie out of the bag and scarfing it whole. Prim bounces towards our mother and offers her one, which she accepts with a smile. "Katniss?" she offers the bag to me and I take a cookie, popping it into my mouth. I nearly groan as the bursts of sweetness cling to my taste buds and I realize I cannot remember the last time I ate something so delicious. Prim giggles, "Good, huh?"

I nod before swallowing and reach for another. "Mr. Mellark's son must have put them in with the bread he traded us for today," I say, closely analysing the crumbly topping of the cookie in my hand. I bring it to my mouth before Prim says, "Must have been Peeta."

I stop before the cookie reaches my mouth, dropping my hand and staring at Prim in disbelief. She is happily chewing on another cookie and offering another to our mother. Prim knows his name. How? When?

"What?" I almost shout. Prim and our mother look at me, startled.

"Peeta Mellark? Mr. Mellark's son. Blonde hair, blue eyes, really cute?" Prim smirks and licks the crumbs from her lips. When did she start speaking like this? And how does she know Peeta? I have spent years thinking about this boy and Prim talks about him so casually like it's nothing. I feel heat rise into my cheeks at her last comment.

"How...how do you know him?" They don't seem to notice my stutter and the squeak in my voice.

Prim speaks with a mouth full of cookie, "My friends and I go down to the bakery to look at the cakes. He gives free samples all the time. He is so nice. My friend even asked him out on a date, can you believe it?" I roll my eyes. Prim seems to have developed a terrific habit for gossip.

"What did he say?" I ask before I can stop myself. Prim smirks and looks surprised at my sudden interest in what she has to say about dating and boys.

"Well, he said that she was too young for him and that he was saving himself for a very special girl. Don't you think that's sweet?" Prim practically sighs with admiration.

I snort, "Sickly," I whisper under my breath. _Just like his sugar cookies_, I think to myself.

A gust of wind howls angrily down our chimney and the loose window shutter begins to clunk and squeak. I push down the strange feeling that makes my fists clench at the thought of Peeta with that special girl, or any girl for that matter.

"We should put the boards up," I say to our mother. She nods silently and I feel like I want to shake her to elicit some type of reaction. The only time our mother is fully herself is when she is healing a patient; this is when she is in her element. I often wish she would take control, particularly in times like this. But ever since our father died and she fell into a deep depression, her offers of help have been harder for me to accept.

"I'll get the hammer and nails," Prim crumples the empty cookie bag in her hands and makes her way into the kitchen, leaving me and our mother in the main living area.

"Shall I get the boards?" she asks me.

"No, I'll get them," I answer awkwardly, again shunning any offer of assistance. Regret squeezes my stomach, but old habits really do die hard.

Half an hour later, all of the boards are covering the windows and the wind outside has turned into a constant, high-pitched whistle. We settle inside the large closet in the bedroom which is just big enough for all three of us to fit. Prim is sandwiched between our mother and I. We sit in silence for a while, listening carefully to any change in the sounds of the wind. The clunks and squeaking from the broken shutter accelerates and is suddenly silenced by a loud bang. Prim whimpers, her eyes are closed and her chin rests against her bent knee. I place my arm around her. "I'm scared," she whispers. "Katniss, can you sing?" I hate to sing in front of our mother, but I would do anything for Prim. I stare into nothingness as I sing The Valley Song, my voice battling against the tuneless wind.

"Lady, Lady, Lady!" Prim suddenly shrieks, bolting out of the closet and running towards the back door. I follow her instantly and grab her shoulder. "Lady is still outside!" Prim turns to me; her face is blotchy and red, tears already trailing down her cheeks.

"You can't go out there, Prim! It's too dangerous!" I shout back. I can't bear to think of Prim risking her own safety for a goddamn goat. Prim's face hardens, "I can't leave her out there!" She turns resolutely and grabs the door handle. I slap her hand away.

"Don't you dare open that door!" I grab her wrist and march her back to the closet. She cowers in our mother's arms and I hate having to be the bad guy. I sit back down and place my hands over my ears, blocking out the sounds of the angry wind and Prim's loud sobbing.

"You're cruel, Katniss, you know that?" Prim shrieks at me and I snort incredulously. If cruel is protecting my own sister, then let it be. I feel my blood boiling as Prim continues to cry and the wind grows angrier and angrier, turning into a loud, infuriating cacophony. The thought of Lady outside makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable and I can't stand it any longer. I jump up and storm towards the back door.

"Katniss, don't!" I hear our mother shout behind me. I don't acknowledge her as I fling open the door and march outside. My anger makes me forget the strength of the wind, and I am suddenly pushed forward as if an invisible person has thrust their hands against me. I grip on to the railing of the porch and look towards the sky. Grey and black clouds swirl threateningly; any rays of sun have been entirely banished, leaving District 12 even more colourless than it was before. A wailing siren sounds in the distance, signalling that a tornado is actually on the ground. I turn my gaze to the tree a few feet from our house where Prim usually ties Lady. Its branches reach sideways and I see the goat cowering close to the tree's thick trunk. I hear my name being carried away with the wind and I resolutely move towards the tree. Pieces of wood and other debris are being flung through the air, my eyes are beginning to water and I tighten my grip on the railing. The long rope which Prim ties to Lady, to keep her on the porch, is whipping manically in the gusts of wind. I grab it and reel it in, tying it securely around my waist. I move more assuredly now.

"Come on, Lady!" I shout. I am bending low, reaching a shaking hand to her. "Come on, you stupid goat!" I can barely hear the growing panic in my voice. The wind seems to be getting impossibly stronger, causing Lady to move closer to the tree. I grumble in frustration. An ear piercing whistle grabs my attention and I whip my head to the source of the sound. My eyes widen as I see a large piece of wood hurtling through the air towards me. I try to move out the way, but I am too slow and then there is nothing but darkness.

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_**Please review! I would love to know what you think about the story so far.**_

**Author's note: A big thank you to my beta C for all your help with this chapter.**


	3. Chapter 2

**********Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Chapter 2**

My skull feels as if it has been cracked open like an egg and all the insides scrambled.

_Voices?_

I can't make out what they are saying.

The pain in my head is excruciating.

The voices are becoming clearer, more distinguishable. Low whispers and a soothing, melodic tone.

Cool waves ebb away some of the burning in my skull.

I clench my fists.

My eyes flutter open. It's as if a hammer is pounding against my head from the inside out. Blurred figures move above me. "Katniss?" I hear Prim's voice. Her face suddenly comes into focus and our mother is also standing above me. I can't read their facial expressions.

"She might be a bit confused," I watch the words slip easily from my mother's mouth. I try to speak but my voice slurs and becomes stuck within my throat and on the tip of my tongue.

My neck feels stiff and it's as if my head and stomach are connected; the incessant throbbing in my head makes my stomach contract.

"Get the container," my mother says urgently in a tone of voice I have heard her use many times before with other patients. This time, I realize it is _me_ who is the patient. My eyes lose focus. A plastic container is thrust under my chin and, with perfect timing, catches the vile liquid ejected from my stomach. This does nothing to relieve the pain in my head and my arms feel weak. I fall back against the pillows and am propped into a sitting position.

Prim wipes a damp cloth across my lips and around my mouth. She has always been so good with the patients. At this moment, she looks determined, but I can see apprehension in her eyes and something else, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Despite my confusion, there is one thing I am sure of; I want to console Prim, let her know that I am okay.

"_I'm fine,"_ I say, but the words that come out of my mouth are unintelligible. Prim glares at me, purses her lips and shakes her head. She turns and walks away. My mother reappears.

"You need to rest," she says.

Panic rises within me. I can't remember how I got here. What happened? My mother smooths her calloused hand across my cheek and makes soothing noises reminding me of when I was younger, before my father died. However, this does nothing to quell the bewilderment stirring within me. I turn my face to the side, not wanting her comfort.

"Do you remember the accident?" my mother whispers. I turn back to her, a single tear trickling down my cheek. I shake my head, knowing that it's probably not worth speaking. "You were hit," my mother continues in a low, gentle tone, "On the head." She takes my hand and lifts it up so I can feel the rough, thick bandages that encircle my head. My mother lays my hand down on the bed beside me. "It might be a concussion or contusion, or bruising to the brain. I can't tell how severe it is," she swallows deeply. "We will see in the next few hours."

A loud knocking startles my mother, but I barely acknowledge it. I am stunned. How can I not remember being hit on the head? My mother moves to open the front door and, a moment later, Gale walks into my room looking wind-swept and rosy cheeked in his deep blue coal miner's shirt and trousers. He places his metal District 12 safety helmet and lunch pail on the floor beside my bed.

"Hey, Catnip," he says softly, kneeling beside me. I remember saying goodbye to Gale on my front porch. His smile falters slightly when I don't reply.

"Her speech has been affected," my mother says from the doorway. All of a sudden, scorching hot pain strikes through my skull like a lightning bolt. I must have been moaning because, when I open my eyes again, Gale looks shocked. "She is also having difficulty with her motor coordination," my mother continues.

"Her what?" Gale asks dumbly.

"Her movements; they are very stilted," my mother says.

"When will we know if she is going to be okay?" Gale murmurs. He turns his gaze back to me and there is sadness in his eyes. Fear sinks into the pit of my stomach. How long am I going to be like this?

"We are going to have to wait and see..." my mother trails off. There is a pregnant pause and Gale squeezes my hand to reassure me.

"She'll be fine. Won't you, Katniss? I've always said you had a pretty thick skull," he smirks at his own joke. Despite the pain and confusion, I manage to form a small smile. "Atta girl," Gale laughs. "I need to go. I'll drop by after work." Work? Didn't I just say goodbye to him on my front porch? It dawns on me that it's not Sunday like I thought it was. It makes sense though; he is dressed for work. "Glad you're awake, Catnip," he says before leaving the room. My mother follows him and I am left alone.

I sweep my eyes around the darkened room and notice that the windows are boarded up. I remember the strong winds, the tornado watch, the bakery and Peeta Mellark! I feel excited at the sudden return of memory. Unfortunately, I still can't recall how I got the head injury.

Prim enters the room holding a small cup. Steam rises from it as she walks slowly, making sure to spill the contents. _Good, Prim can explain what happened_.

"You need to drink this," Prim states impassively. She doesn't make eye contact with me as she places the cup on the bedside cabinet. I want to tell her that I am not sure whether I can pick it up, as my arms are so weak. However, it's as if I have forgotten how to talk. I stare at the cup in the hope that Prim gets the idea, but when I look up, she is gone. At that point, I feel more puzzled by Prim's behavior than anything else.

Licking my lips, I realize how thirsty I am. My trembling hand reaches for the cup. My brain tells my arm to move it to my lips, but instead my arm shakes and the cup slips from my hand onto the wooden floor, making a loud clattering sound. I curse in frustration, but it comes out as a low growl.

"I told Primrose you needed help to drink that," my mother appears. "You did well," she says, picking up the cup and wiping the floor with the same damp cloth Prim had used to wipe the vomit from my lips. "I'll get you another." Apart from the fact I have busted my head and I can barely move or talk, there is something else going on. Prim is acting strangely. Even when I was sick with the flu, she spent most of the time at my bedside; now she is visibly trying to ignore me.

I become overwhelmed with drowsiness, but my mother returns and sits on the bed beside me with a fresh cup of the steaming liquid. _Will she explain what has happened to me?_ My confusion and drowsiness unwittingly turns to anger. _Why won't someone tell me what is going on?_

"This should bring down the swelling," my mother says before blowing on the cup and bringing it to my lips. My anger dissipates as quickly as it arrived and I drink deeply, enjoying the taste of the herbal mixture. The pillows feel soft as I lean back into them. "Keep trying to talk. It will come," my mother smiles weakly. "You were very brave," she whispers and presses a kiss to my bandaged forehead. Usually I would recoil at any bodily contact with my mother, but her presence is comforting. It's something I've longed for ever since I began grieving for my father all those years ago. "You went to get Lady for Prim during the tornado watch. Even when the siren signaled that there was a tornado on the ground, you still tried. There was a lot of flying debris, that's when you were struck on the head..." She doesn't continue. Her explanation doesn't subdue my curiosity. _If I didn't save Lady, who did?_ _And even more intriguingly, who saved me?_ I realize these questions will have to wait for another time. My mother must have noticed my baffled expression as she reassuringly squeezes my hand with her own.

"Thank you," I manage. My voice is rough and I slur the words, but it's something. I don't know what I am thanking my mother for, but all I know is that I am grateful she is here. She smiles at my words. "You've always been a fast healer."

A couple of days later, Prim again leaves for school without speaking to me. She has been making her best efforts to avoid spending anytime with me, only helping me if our mother insists. I am still bedridden as my attempts to walk have been fruitless. Today, my mother sits with me for most of the morning, helping me as I stumble to the bathroom**.** I feel ashamed as she assists me on the toilet, as well as helping me to wash and put on clean clothes. She feeds me a clear broth, which helps sooth my aching head and body. After many years of being in control of everything in my life, I am now depending on my mother and I don't like it one bit.

After changing the dressing around my head, my mother tucks the bed sheets around me. There is a soft knock at the front door.

"A bit...early...for Gale," I mumble. My speech is clearer now, but talking is still a struggle. I hear my mother's footsteps cross the wooden floor and the creak of the front door. I listen carefully for a clue as to who it might be.

"Katniss," my mother says at my bedroom door, "You have a visitor." She is smiling strangely. My heart stops as Peeta Mellark follows my mother into the room. I am so surprised to see Peeta that I don't hear my mother beginning to list all of my aliments to him. "...Her speech has improved so much and the swelling has gone down significantly!" Peeta listens politely, intermittently glancing at me. I want Panem to swallow me whole right then and there. I must look a fright with a huge, swollen, bandaged head; I instantly regret letting my mother dress me in such a hideous nightgown. Peeta, on the other hand, looks as handsome as ever and I can't believe he is here, at my house, in _my_ bedroom!

"You can spend some time with her if you want," my mother offers. I now want Panem to swallow my mother whole, too. _What is she doing?_

"Yes, I would like that," Peeta smiles at me. I feel my cheeks warm at his response.

"I'll make some tea," my mother chirps. And I know she will be getting out the best cups and saucers, as it is not often we have a Merchant visit the Seam. "We can have it with the cakes you brought with you, Peeta," I hear my mother say as she bustles towards the kitchen.

Peeta approaches the bed, but does not sit or kneel. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a white shirt that has Mellark's Bakery embossed on the left breast. I look up at him and have never felt so awkward in my entire life. I wonder what he would think if I pulled the sheet over my head and stayed there. _Maybe I should just pretend to fall into a coma._

"Did you like the cookies?" he asks. I resign to the fact I am going to have to talk or at least try to string a coherent sentence together.

"W...what cookies?" I cringe at the sound of my stilted speech. However, Peeta continues as if there is nothing wrong with me at all.

"I put some cookies in your bread bags...didn't you see them?" he questions again.

"I've...forgotten some things," I mumble, pointing to my bandaged head. He nods sadly.

He looks so self-conscious standing there, so I take pity on him and move across the bed slightly.

"You can sit," I offer. He smiles and perches on the edge of the bed facing me. I have never been in such close proximity to him, but I feel as though I have known him for eternity. Although, I cannot help but wonder what he is doing here. All this time watching him from afar and now he is here, sitting on my bed; expecting what from me? I feel guilty for never learning his name before our previous encounter. Peeta and I were even in the same year group at school, but I very much kept to myself. I was too shy. Besides, he spent most of his time with the other Merchant kids. We Seam children didn't socialize with them. There was, and for the most part still is, a strict social boundary between the Seam and the Merchants. This makes Peeta's visit to see me all the more perplexing.

He clears his throat. "There was quite a bit of damage after the tornado. The Seam seems to have been hit pretty bad, huh?" I have no idea what he is talking about. I knew there was a tornado, but I wasn't aware of the damage it caused. I just stare. In shock? Confusion? I don't know. Peeta and I are the same age and all I can think about is how youthful he looks; he doesn't look 21 at all.

"Primrose told my Dad about what happened to you. He asked me to bring you some cakes..." Peeta trails off, looking at me directly. I don't know what to say, but then it comes out of my mouth like projectile word vomit.

"Thank y..you for the b...burnt bread." Peeta's eyes widen and I see recognition settle onto his face.

"You remember that?" he smiles.

I sit up slightly and lean over to Peeta, gently placing my hand on his cheek. Peeta's eyes do not leave my face as I trace my fingers over the memory of the large welt his mother left on his cheek. I know I am being bold but, at the moment, I don't seem to care. The impulse to touch him, to be close to him, is too strong.

He seems to know what I am referring to. "My mother can be pretty nifty with a rolling pin," he chuckles derisively. "She'd go crazy if she knew I was here..." Peeta grumbles. Without warning, my own mother comes bursting through the door with our 'best' cups and saucers, a hot teapot and Peeta's cakes on a tray. I let my hand drop from Peeta's face and mortification washes over me like a tidal wave. I am never this forward with anyone, not even my best friend, Gale. I look away from Peeta and pretend to focus on my mother.

My mother pours the tea and hands a cup and saucer to Peeta. Thankfully, she doesn't pour one for me, as the embarrassment of spilling tea all over Peeta is too much to even think about. My mother smiles encouragingly at both of us and then leaves the room. _Why is she leaving?_ She knows I can barely hold a conversation at the best of times. It dawns on me that she is putting me in a position where I have to practice speaking.

"Don't you want a cup of tea?" Peeta questions whilst sipping his. I gently shake my aching head.

"I'm...a little...clumsy...at the moment," I add a half-hearted laugh to lighten the fact that I can't even drink without help. Peeta doesn't return the laugh and I become serious again. There is a long silence as Peeta continues to sip at his tea and I train my eyes on the bed sheet.

"You should at least try the cakes," he says, reaching over to the plate on my bedside table. _Oh no, I can't say no to that_! Peeta offers the plate of cakes to me and I hesitate for a second before reaching for one. The small cake is beautifully decorated with an intricate, yellow flower design. Triumph blossoms inside me as my body does what my bruised brain tells it to do. Even though my hand is still shaking, I grip the cake firmly and move it towards my lips. However, my brain falters and so does my coordination, so I stop. I dare not to look at Peeta as the cake drops from my trembling fingers and onto my lap. My triumph turns to abject horror as I quickly try to pick up the cake but I apply too much pressure, smushing the sponge and frosting between my fingers. And to make matters worse, I feel tears prick at my eyes from the humiliation.

"It's okay," Peeta says and smiles reassuringly. I look up and watch as he reaches for one of the napkins my mother must have placed on the tea tray. Peeta takes my quivering hand and gently wipes the frosting and sponge from it, before brushing any crumbs from my lap into the napkin. My gentle gasp from his touch doesn't go unnoticed, and Peeta chuckles.

"Let's try it this way," he sets the napkin on the tray, picks up another cake and brings it to my mouth. "Go on, take a bite," he smiles. My heart is hammering and I can actually hear my blood thundering through my veins. I open my mouth instinctively and lean forward, taking a bite. The frosting is sweet and the sponge is moist. I hum in appreciation.

"Delicious," I say after swallowing. "Thank you," my voice is steadier this time. Peeta is smiling at me and so I open my mouth like a baby bird wanting more. He chuckles and deposits the rest of the cake in my mouth. I can't help but laugh at this ridiculous situation. Never in my wildest dreams did I think the boy who gave me the burnt bread all those years ago, would be sitting on my bed, feeding me cake! It dawns on me that the accident combined with the fact that Peeta is sitting in front of me right now, means the changes in my life have only just begun.

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**Thank you so much for reading._ Please Review._ Who saved Katniss after she was hit on the head? What do you think is going on with Prim? What is going to happen next? What would you like to happen? **

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for all your help with this chapter.**


	4. Chapter 3

**********Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Chapter 3**

"Come on, Katniss. You must keep trying," my mother sighs with exasperation. My legs dangle over the bed and my feet touch the cool, wooden floor. Over the last few days, my mother has been trying to get me to walk independently. My legs, however, just won't cooperate. As soon as I take a few steps, my legs become weak and I stumble and, on some occasions, fall to the floor. This has left me feeling discouraged.

Not being able to walk properly is not my only concern. Prim is still avoiding me, so I have not had the chance to talk to her. In addition to this, I have not stopped worrying about food. So far the reserves before the accident have been plenty, but I know that we will soon run out and this terrifies me. My mother is making some money treating patients, but she has spent a lot of time looking after me. Hunting and trading was such a huge part of our survival that I don't know what we are going to do now that I can't hunt. Gale has offered to help, but he needs to support his mother and three siblings with what little money he gets from working in the coal mines. Also, I don't want to have to owe him anything. There is nothing I hate more than being indebted to somebody, even if it is Gale.

"I can't," I tell her**,** shaking my head and rubbing my thighs over the white cotton nightdress. The boards on the windows have been taken down, allowing a dull evening light to shine through. Prim should have been back from school ages ago, but I assume that she has gone to a friend's house again so she doesn't have to see me.

"You can't continue to eat your meals in bed. Come on..." I have never heard my mother so aggravated. It annoys me and I cross my arms in protest. She turns and I lift my head as we hear a familiar knock at the front door. Excitement bubbles inside me and I can barely stifle a smile. "He's later than usual," my mother wonders as she heads towards the front door. Peeta now comes to visit me regularly. This must be his sixth time to the Seam. Each time he has brought something delicious to eat, which I hate, because I now feel even more indebted to him that I did before.

I nervously straighten out my nightdress when I hear my mother's pleasant tones of gratitude as Peeta gives her the baked goods. I physically tremble with anticipation. I look forward to Peeta's visits, as he often stays to talk about what is going on in town or to play card games. He has even helped me practice my speech, which is slowly returning to normal. I even let him stay in the room when my mother changed my bandages. He said he wanted to have a look at the bump on my head; the look of horror on his face was priceless. "That looks terrible," he had said sympathetically. My mother offered to show me in the mirror, but I didn't want to look. I had already seen the dark bruising around my eyes, and I was not prepared to see what was hidden underneath the bandages.

"Hi," he says, walking into the room. His smile is wide and his eyes practically twinkle with perfection.

"Hi," I reply, my voice an octave higher than usual.

"You're sitting up!" he says with genuine awe. I feel the thin mattress dip slightly as Peeta sits next to me. He is wearing his Mellark's Bakery shirt and he smells of cinnamon and freshly baked bread.

"Your mother says she has been trying to get you to walk to the kitchen for dinner." I roll my eyes. Even though it has only been a week since my mother and Peeta have met, they have become a force to be reckoned with. Everything my mother says about my recovery, Peeta agrees with her. It's annoying, but seeing how lovely he is with my mother makes me like Peeta all the more.

"It's really...hard," I grumble. "It sometimes feels as if my legs aren't even there." I laugh halfheartedly and shake my head.

"Well, let's have a look then," Peeta claps his hands together and a grin sets upon his face.

"Have a look...at what?" I ask dubiously.

"Your legs, silly, to see if they are still there," he laughs. Before I met Peeta, I thought of myself as quite a serious person, but he seems to be able to put a smile on my face with the blink of an eye. All of a sudden, Peeta stands, faces me and gently pulls up the bottom of my nightdress, bunching it just above my knees, revealing my bare legs.

"Peeta!" I exclaim in surprise. However, a pleasant jolt of electricity moves from my knees to in-between my thighs. I squirm slightly at this unfamiliar feeling.

"They both seem to be there," he sniggers, pointing at my legs and then thoughtfully stroking an imaginary beard on his face. Instead of slapping him away, which is what I would usually do, I swing my legs gently. The boldness I felt during his first visit, when I touched his cheek, strikes again. _Two can play at this game._

"Oh. Well, I can't...seem to feel them properly. Can you touch them? You know, just to make sure," I cock my eyebrow for good measure. Peeta's mouth is agape and my eyes dare him to take me up on my offer. He licks his lips and I wonder what it would feel like to have them against my own. His gaze flickers to my legs. One of his hands still holds my nightdress above my knees. Gradually, Peeta kneels in front of me and places his left hand on my right ankle and moves his hand up my leg. This sends a shiver coursing through my entire body, setting me on fire. _Is this too much?_ I imagine Peeta slipping his hand underneath my nightdress, between my legs. I bite my lip as he rubs his hand along my calf. _Yes, this is definitely too much! _But I don't tell him to stop. Peeta shifts his gaze to meet my mine. _What kind of girl must he think I am? _I swallow hard and Peeta's lips creep into a mischievous smile.

"I can feel them, can you?" he asks**.** My mind races as I stare at him in astonishment and arousal. An image of him lifting my nightdress and putting his face between my thighs almost makes me cry out, but I bite my lip harder instead. I turn my gaze to his left hand, which now rests on my knee whilst the other grips tightly onto the edge of my nightdress.

"Yes," I say breathlessly.

"Good, so that means you can at least try and walk to the kitchen," he states, removing his hands from me and standing up. The heat in my cheeks becomes a stark contrast to the coolness left on my knee after Peeta removes his hand.

"I'll help you." He looks at me like nothing just happened, as if lifting my nightgown and rubbing my bare leg was a completely natural thing to do. I must look a state, breathing heavily, my half-bare legs, I realize, are slightly parted. I squeeze them together and brush my nightgown down. Looking up at Peeta, I see that his cheeks are slightly pink and I feel better thinking that I might actually be having the same effect on him.

"Come on," he urges, giving me his hand. I slip my hand into his large one and as he hoists me up**,** I wobble slightly. He turns towards the door, but I don't move.

"Are you coming?" he questions nonchalantly, his hand resting on the door knob. I feel my palms sweat at the thought of Peeta watching me struggle to walk. My legs still feel extremely weak and are visibly shaking. Taking a deep breath, I walk a couple of staggered steps before my legs give way and I crumple to the floor, except I don't reach the hard ground below me as expected. Instead, Peeta's strong arms encircle my waist and he effortlessly lifts me to my feet.

Peeta smiles encouragingly, and once I am more stable, moves around me to take my arm. He tenderly guides me towards the kitchen where my mother is packing her large medicine bag. She turns as Peeta gently helps me to sit on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table.

"What took you so long?" She smiles at Peeta. I have to stop myself from laughing at the guilty look on his face.

"Is there anything else I can help with**,** Mrs. Everdeen?" he asks in such a goody-two-shoes way that I actually want to slap him. My mother ladles some steaming hot broth from a pan on the stove into a small bowl. Watery, bland broth has been our staple diet for the last few days and I know we are running out of food. I feel ashamed that Peeta is here to see our lack of food first hand. My mother places the bowl in front of me and sets down a large plate piled with Peeta's bread buns. Even though I hate being indebted to Peeta, I can't help but feel grateful, as I don't think I can face another tasteless, unfulfilling meal.

"Actually, Peeta..." My mother begins and he stands to attention like a soldier awaiting his next order. "I need to visit Hazelle Hawthorne, as Posy seems to have come down with the flu. Could you keep an eye on Katniss until Prim gets home? I have no idea where that girl has gotten off to!" My mother shakes her head disapprovingly, whilst hoisting her medicine bag over her shoulder.

"I can take care of myself!" I bellow. My mother stares at me pitifully, completely unfazed by my sudden outburst.

"Katniss, despite it being over a week, head injuries must be closely monitored. It could get worse and someone needs to be here." She has her healer voice on and I purse my lips in frustration because I know she's right. "And anyway, the last time I left you to your own devises, you got so frustrated with your lack of coordination that you threw your bowl at poor Buttercup," my mother gestures to the fat, fluffy cat, who is now sitting on the table, staring intently at my broth. _How did that ugly thing survive the tornado?_

"I am sure I can stay for a bit," Peeta says and I imagine a halo above his head. However, a tinge of happiness wiggles through my stomach at the thought of being alone with Peeta.

"Thank you. I am sure Prim will back soon." My mother waves goodbye and I ignore her as she briskly slips out the front door.

"Your Mom is so nice. Nothing like mine," Peeta sighs as he sits on the chair next to me. I feel bad for behaving like that towards my mother in front of Peeta, since I know what his mother used to do to him. I close my eyes at the thought of Peeta as a little boy, being hit with a rolling-pin. My heart aches.

"Hey, you okay?" Peeta gently rests his hand on mine and I open my eyes.

"I'm sorry for what your mother did to you," I mumble.

"It's okay. Doesn't happen too often," he shrugs. I maneuver our hands so our fingers intertwine and we both stare at our joined hands. _Too much, too soon,_ is all I can think. But that still doesn't stop me from loosely running my thumb across his palm.

"It was the first day of school and my Dad pointed you out..." Peeta whispers randomly. I strain to listen. He is still gazing at our joined hands. "You had two braids instead of one and you sang The Valley Song so beautifully in music assembly. I think I was a goner even then." His eyes flash to mine and I am uncertain at what he is getting at. He must see my confusion as he continues, "There has always been something special about you, Katniss. I have always admired you from afar, but after I heard about the accident I had to see you; finally get to know you, after all those years. It scared me to think I might have never gotten the chance." Peeta moves closer to me and caresses my cheek with his free hand. My heart is pounding a million times a minute and the constant pain in my head thuds excitedly. He affectionately runs his hand alongside my braid. "Initially, I wanted to be friends, and I know we haven't known each other long, but...I want more than friendship." His voice quivers slightly and I have no idea how to reply. He is so outspoken, so open with his feelings and it scares me.

We are both startled and snatch our hands away from each other as the front door swings open and Prim walks through followed by an exhausted looking Gale. Prim knows Peeta has visited before but she has never been here when he does. On the other hand, I have not told Gale of Peeta's visits, so this must look quite strange to him. Peeta stands up instantly. My heart is still racing at his confession.

"Hi, I'm Peeta," he says stupidly, reaching out a hand towards Gale.

"I know who you are," Gale replies, without taking Peeta's hand. Prim is absolutely silent and stares in awe at Peeta, then at me. I feel angry at Gale for being so rude. _Why is he being like that?_

There is silence and Peeta drops his outstretched hand.

"I was just making sure Katniss was okay..." I'm surprised to see Peeta acting so nervous but I would probably feel the same way if Gale was looking at me like that; he can seem quite fierce when he wants to. I open my mouth to say something, but Gale cuts me off.

"She'll be fine now. I think you should go." Both Prim and I look at Gale incredulously. _Why is he being so rude? _

"Gale!" I shout angrily.

"No, it's okay, Katniss. I'll see you another time," Peeta looks at me pointedly and the emotion in his eyes makes me long to tell him that there is something special about him, too.

"Bye, Primrose." Peeta waves to Prim.

"Bye, Peeta," she replies sadly as he walks out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"What was he doing here?" Gale asks, slamming his lunch pail and miner's helmet onto the table. I notice Prim surreptitiously slip my leather game bag off her shoulder on to the floor. Buttercup jumps off the table excitedly and begins to sniff and paw at the bag. I make eye contact with Prim, who has dirt on her face, and her floral dress is slightly torn.

"Where have you two been?" I ask firmly.

"Don't change the subject," Gale points an accusing finger at me, whilst Prim steps past me and begins to wash her hands in the kitchen basin.

"Hunting," she exclaims loudly with her back still turned to me.

"You...went hunting? In that dress?" _I can't believe Prim went hunting with Gale. _Jealousy warms my face and neck.

"Why was Mellark here?" Gale questions again. Both Prim and I ignore him.

"Gale is showing me how to shoot a bow and arrow and make snares," she turns, crosses her arms and leans against the counter. Envy completely consumes me. _That is my job. I hunt. I shoot the bow and arrow. Not Prim. _

"Why?" I say weakly.

"Someone has to bring some food into this house!" She glares at me; like it is my fault we have hardly any food. _Maybe it is._

"Why hunting? Why not...sell cheese...from your goat?" I question.

"Mom told me not to tell you whilst you are recovering, but I guess you're much better now." Prim looks me up and down. There is a heavy pause before Prim's firm expression falters and her voice quivers, "Lady didn't survive the tornado." My breath catches from shock and annoyance that I wasn't told this before.

"We had to save _you_ instead," Prim mutters. Tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, but I am more shocked by the anger in her voice. Gale has gone quiet and stares at Prim warily. There is silence except for Prim's quiet sobbing and Buttercup sniffing and clawing at the game bag.

"Prim..." I have no idea what to say.

"No, Katniss. It should have been me!" Prim suddenly changes demeanor; from anger to regret in a matter of seconds. "I should have been hit on the head, not you. You were trying to protect me. I am not a child anymore and you always treat me like one. It should have been me..." Prim heaves a great sob and, I walk to her without hesitation**,** enveloping her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, Prim," I try to soothe her. Her sobs quiet down and she says something, but it is muffled by my shoulder.

"What was that?" I whisper. Prim pulls back and I wipe a tear from her cheek. Her blue eyes make me think of Peeta for a second, but I push him to the back of my mind.

"You're standing. You walked," she says with a watery smile. I nod and feel tears prick at my own eyes.

"I'm going to be fine, Prim. It will take time, but...I will be back to normal soon. And if you want to... hunt, then you do that," I realize Prim is more like me than I thought. She has the same survivor's instinct, and rather than feel jealous, I feel proud of her.

"...But next time, don't wear a pretty flowery dress," I add. She laughs through her sobs and I smile, too.

"I don't have anything else to wear," Prim mumbles.

"You can wear my hunting clothes and... father's jacket. I'm sure they will fit you," I smile at the thought of Prim wearing my clothes and using my bow and arrow. Years ago, I would never thought it possible. Prim in the woods. I even get ahead of myself and think about hunting with her once I am better.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you," Prim pulls away from our embrace.

"It's nothing. Don't worry...about it," I reassure her. "Why don't you get cleaned up?" Prim nods and slips past me towards the bathroom. I turn to Gale, who is now sitting at the table, still looking thunderous. My legs begin to feel weak, so I lean against the sink.

"What is wrong...with you?" I stutter irritably.

"What was Mellark doing here?" Gale reiterates. I roll my eyes.

"He was bringing bread...and talking with me. Is that a crime?" Gale and I were an item for a few months when we were younger, but we decided we were better off as friends. However, with the way this conversation is going**,** Gale still can't stand the thought of me being with another man, much less talking with one.

"He just wants to have sex with you," Gale whispers.

"Shut up, Gale," I groan, stumbling haphazardly to my previously vacated chair. I sit facing him.

"He is a Merchant, Katniss. Merchants only ever come to the Seam to have sex with desperate, poor Seam girls," he hisses like a snake.

"Peeta is not like that." I want to punch Gale in the face. I have never told Gale about the burnt bread or my previous feelings for Peeta.

"Why do you think he just turned up now? Because he feels bad for you?" Gale snorts in disbelief. "...Because he wants to make sure you won't go hungry? No, Catnip. You are practically one of the only Seam girls that has not yet spread her legs for a Merchant man." Gale's whisper is becoming louder and I feel worried that Prim will hear him.

"Shut up. You know...that's not true," I seethe. I begin to feel dizzy and my head throbs harder than usual.

"He is buying you for sex, and you probably don't even know it yet. I saw the way you looked at him before your accident. He must have realized he had you hook, line and sinker." I begin to feel tears prick at my eyes. "And now it's even better for him, because the knock on your head has made you an easy target."

"How?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

"Oh, Katniss. You can't even see how much you've changed. Those Merchants are not only going to see you as desperate and poor, but also messed up in the head, which makes you an easy target." Gale is leaning over the table, staring determinedly at me like a cat about to pounce on its prey. I have always known Gale's possessiveness to turn him a little crazy, but the words coming out of his mouth are incredibly hurtful. _Desperate? Messed up? _I want to rub my head, but it hurts too much.

"I think you...should leave," I feel my stutter returning. Warm tears trickle down my cheeks.

"I am just warning you; protecting you. That is how those Merchant men will see you. You are too pure for your own good."

"Please... leave," I whisper through a strangled sob. With that, Gale stands, grabbing his lunch pail and helmet before storming out the front door.

I sigh. My eyelids feel heavy and my stomach groans from lack of food. I pick up one of Peeta's freshly made bread rolls and bring it to my nose. It smells like him and I realize I have only really known Peeta for a week. Gale could be right. However, no one would go to such lengths for sex. There are plenty of Seam girls out there who would _spread their legs_ without all this hassle. I remember Peeta's hands on my own legs and the look of want in his eyes. But I was the one who asked him to touch me. I instigated the whole thing. Maybe that's what Gale meant about how much I have changed. _Have I become too trusting, vulnerable even?_

My chest tightens as I recall Peeta's fingers intertwined with mine and the way he looked at me when he said he wanted more. _What did he mean by more? Did he mean sex?_ I swallow thickly. The uncertainty makes bile run into my throat and my head aches. I stand abruptly and clumsily stagger across the kitchen before vomiting in the basin.

I feel Prim's presence beside me almost instantly. She rubs her hand up and down my back as I cry quietly, my tears mixing with the vomit below me. Gale's words have acted like a poisonous needle, bursting the small dream-like bubble that I had created around Peeta. The only way I can sort this out is to speak to Peeta, to tell him how I feel, and about what Gale said. As I spit vomit from my lips, all I can do is hope that Peeta will visit again tomorrow.

* * *

**_ W_****_hat do you think? _****_Please Review._****_ Is Gale is right? Does Peeta have another agenda? What should Katniss do? Should she confront Peeta?_  
**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for all your help with this chapter.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

**Chapter 4**

The early morning light reluctantly slips through the old moth-eaten curtains at my bedroom window. Prim lightly brushes my sweaty hair from my face as I sit on the edge of the bed, dry heaving into a rusty metal bucket. Gale's words continue to travel through my mind like the hands of a clock**;** tick, tick, ticking away at my resolve. Gale is wrong. Peeta is a kind person; he would never take advantage of me like that.

"I have no idea why you are still vomiting," my mother paces fretfully across the bedroom, the loose floorboards squeak sporadically with her every step. Prim takes the bucket from me and I lie down upon the wash-worn cotton bed sheets. My head pounds furiously, so I close my eyes and try to relax. Staying up all night with a throbbing headache and Gale's harsh words has made me awfully irritable and utterly exhausted. "You'd been doing so well, I don't understand..." my mother's words begin to trail away becoming a distant, unintelligible whisper and I fall into a fitful sleep.

Unwillingly, my tired eyes blink toward consciousness. Harsh light penetrates my vision sending an agonising ache across my forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Prim is standing by the door. She is wearing my light brown pants, a green button up shirt and our father's hunting jacket. She doesn't look like herself; she looks like a blonde-haired, blue-eyed version of me, even down to the intricate side-braid.

"What time is it?" I mutter, my voice rough from sleep.

"Six pm. I'm waiting for Gale to get back, so we can and check the snares I set up this morning." Prim looks hesitant.

"How often are you going into the woods with Gale?" I question curiously. Ever since Gale began working at the coal mines he was only able to hunt on Sundays. _Why have the circumstances changed all of sudden? _I prop myself on my elbows and notice that Prim is also wearing my brown leather boots.

"Every day, I guess, whilst I learn," Prim shrugs. "Then I can go by myself after school." I can't help but feel jealous of Prim. I miss the outdoors, my bow and arrow, and the freedom of the woods. What makes matters worse is that I hate being stuck indoors, virtually bedridden.

"Did Peeta come today?" I change the subject; the discussion of my uselessness is too much to bear. Prim frowns and shakes her head.

"You like him, don't you?" she whispers earnestly.

"What? No, I just...I like the company. I get lonely..." I trail off.

"You so do, too. Look, your cheeks have gone red!" She points a finger at me and I can't deny that my cheeks are unusually warm. Prim's lips turn into a firm line and she comes to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. She takes my hand and, for once, I feel as if I am the child.

"I heard what Gale said yesterday," my eyes dart to hers in shock. "Peeta is a good guy. I think he really likes you, Katniss. Gale, he just worries about you..."

"I don't need _anyone_ to worry about me. I can take care of myself..." A firm knock at the front door stops me. It must be Gale. Prim stands and leaves the room.

"Sorry it is so late. I couldn't get away from the bakery until now." I hear Peeta tell Prim as she opens the door. I let out a slow steady breath, relieved that it is not Gale.

"It's okay. Katniss was not well last night and she slept most of the day. She is awake now." I slip out of bed and walk into the kitchen where Peeta stands, holding a large paper bag. My stomach growls hungrily at the smell of freshly baked bread. He smiles when he sees me and Prim smirks knowingly.

"Mom's with Hazelle. Will you two be alright until she gets back?" Prim asks whilst tossing my game bag over her shoulder.

"I thought you were waiting for Gale?" I wonder aloud.

"He must be running late. I'll go and meet him. Hopefully the snares have caught something good to trade," Prim smiles mischievously before opening the front door. "See you later, _Peeta_," Prim says and I scowl at the audacious tone in her voice. The exchange doesn't go unnoticed by Peeta. He turns to me with a baffled look and Prim gives me a quick wink before leaving. I look at Peeta, who now appears hesitant, holding tightly onto the paper bag. There is a long, uncomfortable silence. He needs to say something because I am terrible with words and situations like this.

Eventually, Peeta clears his throat. "Prim looks different." He is still staring at me and I begin to feel self-conscious under his piercing blue gaze. "She looks like you before..." he trails off and rubs the back of his neck.

"She _is_ wearing my clothes," I laugh stiffly. I hate this. I hate this huge elephant dancing around us, but I know I will not be the one to point it out. Peeta brought this whole _more than friendship thing_ up in the first place. My thoughts come to a screeching halt when he smiles at me and all I can think about is how much I would like to kiss him. There is something about Peeta that drives me crazy; his kindness, his way with words, his intense blue eyes, or is it the fact that the first three buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the soft blonde hair on his chest? For a split second, I don't care whether he is here just for sex; I realize I am hopelessly attracted to this man.

"What did you bring me?" I say, trying to disguise my wantonness. When I was a teenager, I didn't have time to fawn over boys. There was always something; the loss of my father, my mother's depression, the starvation, but now my body seems to be making up for lost time. I walk up to Peeta and take the paper bag from him, unceremoniously tear it open and peer inside. Having gotten past the point of listing everything I owe Peeta, I eagerly pull out a small bread bun, but this one looks different.

"They're called cheese buns. I thought you might like them," Peeta says. I gently squeeze the bread, feeling its softness. On top of the bun is cooled melted cheese and the smell is mouth-watering. I take a large bite from the cheese bun like a hungry dog. "What do you think?" Peeta looks hopeful.

"Really good," I reply. Really good was an understatement; they are indescribably delicious and now probably the best thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. Peeta watches me as I finish off the cheese bun, licking my lips, savouring the taste.

"I'm glad you like them," Peeta laughs. I nod and go to put the paper bag on the kitchen counter. Peeta follows me.

"I'm sorry..." Peeta catches me off guard; I turn to look at him. "...for what I said yesterday. You have been through so much, the last thing you need issome guy you barely know hounding you. I noticed Gale wasn't happy about me being here, either. I don't want to cause any problems." There is a brief pause. I blink stupidly at Peeta and feel my heart thundering in my chest. "Katniss, what I said was true. I really do like you, a lot, actually. You are all I can think about...but if you want me to stop coming over, I will. If all you want is friendship, then I will be grateful for that," I can see Peeta's hands physically shaking with nerves; the honesty in his eyes makes me want to throttle Gale for making me doubt him. He doesn't continue which means it must be my turn to say something. But I don't know what to say. I am rubbish with words. I am terrible with situations like this, where I have to explain my feelings. My palms begin to sweat and I look anxiously around the room for inspiration, anything that will help me tell Peeta that I like him too, in more than a friendly way.

I turn my gaze to Peeta, who looks terribly handsome, and I finally decide what I am going to do. I figure out a way of explaining how I feel without having to say anything. It's risky, but it's something I have longed to do, and I'm willing to take the chance. I take a deep breath and moisten my lips. I can see Peeta watching me do so, and I hope he will like what I'm about to do. I walk over to him, and without hesitation, I plant my lips onto his. My eyes flutter closed and I enjoy the feel of his soft lips against mine. Dread, however, sinks into my stomach as Peeta tenses and doesn't kiss me back, so I pull away. I want to die. _Why would he say those things and then not want to kiss me?_ I instantly feel self-conscious and remember that I am in an old white cotton nightdress with a huge bandage around my head and fading bruises around my eyes. Not the most attractive sight. I can't even look at Peeta as I take a step back from him. Bowing my head, I stare at my feet, hoping that if I wish hard enough the ground will open up and swallow me whole, or some fairy godmother will appear and erase Peeta's memory.

My heart skips when Peeta lifts my chin with his hand and I raise my head to look at him. His expression is unreadable; shock or pity, most likely. But at that moment, his right hand cups my cheek and he delicately traces his thumb across my lips. Hope trickles through me like a leaking dam, fit to burst. His eyes are connected so intensely with mine that I forget where I am. Slowly, Peeta bridges the gap between us and pulls me in close with his hand on my waist. Tenderly and hesitantly, he presses his lips tomine. I close my eyes and sigh with relief.

Peeta's kisses are gentle and loving, but I long for more. Bravely, I allow my tongue to touch his lips, asking permission to enter. Peeta's manly groan sends a spiral of excitement through me and he greedily thrusts his tongue into my mouth. The hand that rests on my neck trails down my shoulder and along my arm, before joining his other hand around my waist. Our hips salaciously grind together and I hear myself moan against his lips. Our tongues battle furiously and all I can taste is the cheese bun I ate not only a few moments ago. Eventually, I pull away to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" Peeta pants.

"Yes," I pant back breathlessly before clumsily returning my lips to his. He grunts roughly into my mouth as I fist my hands in his soft blonde hair, sucking and biting on his lower lip. His hands roam across my lower back before cupping my backside, and I whimper as I feel his erection press into me. His lips leave mine and begin trailing wet, desperate kisses from my collarbone up my neck.

"You're so sexy," he groans against my earlobe before sucking it into his mouth.

"Even with the bandage?" I laugh carelessly.

"Especially with the bandage," he chuckles. "I'm not being too rough, am I?" he questions, almost a whisper.

"No, I like it," I whimper as he grinds his erection against me. I don't care about the consequences of this. I don't even care if Gale is right; all I want is for Peeta to pleasure me. Without permission, I enthusiastically untuck his shirt from his jeans and run my hands against the incredibly soft skin of his back. His lips return to my neck and he sucks hard. I moan loudly.

"Katniss?" I hear my mother's voice call from the front door. Peeta and I spring apart and stare at each other like feral cats after being caught raiding through the garbage. It frightens me to think how far I would have gone had my mother not disturbed us. Peeta's hair is sticking up and my eyes gaze down at the sizable bulge in his jeans. I walk over to him and gently run my fingers through his hair. His stunned expression softens and he smiles warmly at me. My mother walks in.

"Oh, Peeta, I didn't realize you were here," I step back and Peeta moves to sit awkwardly at the kitchen table.

"Hi, Mrs. Everdeen, I came to deliver some bread and to see Katniss," he smiles at me. My mother nods and flips on the tap, filling up the kettle. With her back turned, Peeta's eyes widen and he points at my neck. I touch my fingers to my neck and still feel Peeta's saliva from when he was sucking there. He is still pointing and I gaze down at the part of my chest which is exposed by my nightdress. The skin is red and blotchy and then it dawns on me. I grab my hair and brush it across my shoulder to hide my neck. I look back up at Peeta who is now giving me the thumbs up sign. He stops as my mother turns to us.

"Would you like some tea?" my mother questions.

"Yes, that would be lovely," Peeta says calmly. _How can he be so calm?_ _I am a nervous wreck._ I move to sit down at the kitchen table with Peeta.

"Oh, Peeta, Katniss was so sick last night, I was so worried," my mother turns to me. "You look a lot better now. You have some color in your cheeks." Peeta laughs, I look at him with amusement, but my mother looks confused.

Peeta clears his throat. "Maybe, Katniss, when you are feeling up to it, we can go for a walk around town or something," he says andlooks at my mother for approval.

"Oh yes, I think going outside will do her aworld of good." The kettle on the stove whistles loudly, signifying that the water has boiled. We silently watch my mother bustle around the kitchen getting teacups and pouring the tea.

After placing the steaming cups on the table in front of us, my mother sits down with an exhausted sigh and daintily sips her tea.

"How's your father, Peeta?" she says.

"He's fine. He misses Katniss's squirrels," Peeta winks at me. He is so charismatic and charming and I can't help but wish my mother would go back to the Hawthorne's so I could continue getting to know Peeta better.

"Your father and I used to go to school together," my mother smiles, "He is such a lovely man, and Peeta, you do remind me of him."

"A lot of people say that I'm like him," Peeta grins. "Except for the drawing and the writing, he doesn't like either of those." I sit up a little straighter at this new nugget of information about Peeta.

"You like to draw and write?" I must have sounded impressed. And I am. All the men I have ever met, Seam or Merchant, are very hands-on. It is unusual to meet a man with an interest in the arts and, for some reason, this makes Peeta even more attractive to me. He is different and I like that.

"I decorate all the cakes at the bakery and writing is something I enjoy," his voice darkens at his next words, "But my mother doesn't really approve. She thinks I should be into more manly pursuits, like my brothers."

My mother clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "That is a shame. Katniss's father used to love singing; his parents didn't approve either, for the same reasons as yours. But that didn't stop him. I think that's where Katniss gets her singing voice from," my mother beams.

Peeta smiles nostalgically at me. "You were always a great singer at school," he says, "I won't ever forget when you sang The Valley Song; it was beautiful." I can't seem to tear my gaze from him and I have to agree with Gale; Peeta has me hook, line and sinker.

"Thanks," I murmur breathlessly.

Suddenly, Prim bursts through the front door and angrily storms into the kitchen.

"All those snares and we caught _nothing_!" she shouts, gesticulating wildly. Gale trails in behind her looking exhausted. "Katniss, I don't know how you did this before," Prim slumps heavily into the chair next to me. Gale glares at Peeta as soon as he notices him sitting at the kitchen table. Gale's words hurt me yesterday, but now I couldn't care less. _Who is he to judge?_ I roll my eyes as Gale puffs himself up like a peacock and stalks across the kitchen.

"Don't worry, Prim. It will get easier," I try to reassure her. Prim crosses her arms over her chest and huffs loudly like a spoiled child. There is a brief silence before Peeta stands, the legs of the chair he is sitting on scraping across the wooden floor boards.

"I'dbetter get going," he says, trying to avoid eye contact with Gale, who is now leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I'll walk you out," I offer. Peeta smiles bashfully at me and I feel a blush creep up my cheeks.

"Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Everdeen. Nice to see you again, Prim. Gale," Peeta looks at Gale cautiously as if he is a volcano about to explode. Prim smiles sweetly, but I can still tell she is peeved about the whole 'empty snare' debacle.

"Thank you for the bread, Peeta, and it's always a pleasure," my mother says also smiling. Gale narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Come on, Peeta," I urge him away from Gale's attempt at a pissing contest. We walk out of the kitchen and to the front door. I open it and usher Peeta out onto the porch. I follow, leaving the door ajar.

"I'm sorry about Gale," I whisper.

Peeta shrugs. "It's okay. I understand why he is protective of you, and I don't blame him. I would probably be the same way," he whispers whilst taking my hand in his. "What we did earlier… did you like it?" Peeta questions nervously. I nod without hesitation, seeing as it was me who instigated the whole kissing thing in the first place.

"I did. Did you?" I feel his hand squeeze mine gently.

"Getting to kiss you; I thought I had died and gone to heaven," Peeta croons. I snort loudly and Peeta smirks, "Too corny for you, huh?"

"Just a little," I whisper, taking a step closer to him. My eyes flicker to his lips and his arm reaches around my waist, reeling me in like a fish on a hook. Without another thought, Peeta firmly presses his lips to mine and this time, our kiss is slow and languid. My tongue slides across his and I bring my hands up to run my fingers though his hair.

He groans against my lips, "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Probably not," my laugh is deep and throaty. "You'll have to get to know me a little better before you find out." Peeta's grip on my waist tightens and we continue to kiss deeply.

"Get the fuck away from her!" I shudder at Gale's strident growl from behind me. I turn quickly and Peeta leaps back as if I am a poisonous nightlock berry.

"Gale!" I shout back in horror. My head, which I realize had not bothered me for a while now, starts to ache.

"Shut up, Katniss," he snaps back. I am shocked by his aggression. "I know what you are up to, Mellark." Gale pushes past me like a raging bull and comes face-to-face with Peeta, who looks at me anxiously.

"I really like her; I'm not up to anything," I can hear the panic in his voice and anger pulsates through me. Gale abruptly fists the front of Peeta's shirt in a vice like grip. I launch myself at him and pull feebly at his left arm.

"Gale, stop, please don't do this. This has nothing to do with you!" I tug relentlessly on the sleeve of his miner's shirt, which, I notice, is caked with coal dust and mud from the woods. Peeta raises his hands as if in surrender.

"I know what you Merchant men are like. I know what your brothers get up to. What makes you so different?" Gale snarls, shaking Peeta roughly.

"Gale, stop this ridiculousness!" I bellow and wrench harder on his arm.

"Get off, Katniss!" Gale shouts back and pushes me away with this elbow. I take a step back, but lose my footing on the top porch step. I try to grab on to Gale, but I end up tumbling down the three wooden steps and land, with a thud, on my backside upon the hard dirt path. Sickness travels from my head to my stomach and my brain feels like a ping pong ball bouncing around inside my skull. I close my eyes from the dizziness. When I open them again, Peeta is kneeling before me.

His piercing blue eyes are wide like saucers. "Katniss, are you okay?"

"Katniss, I'm so sorry," I turn to see Gale kneeling on my other side. I ignore him and turn back to Peeta.

"Help me," I say to him. My head pounds and I feel incredibly weak. Groaning in pain, I notice that the dry, earthy dust from the path peppers my nightdress. I feel Peeta's arms, one behind my back and the other under my bent knees, as he lifts me effortlessly from the ground.

"Let's get her inside," Peeta says. I close my eyes and rest my head against his chest as he cradles me.

I hear a gasp as we walk into the house. "What happened?" Prim sounds concerned.

"She fell. It was an accident," Gale mutters.

My mother gasps, "Did she hit her head?"

"No," Gale murmurs, and my mother sighs with relief. I am hastily taken to my bedroom and Peeta gently lays me onto the bed. My mother checks me over and I feel the familiar bile rise into my throat.

"I'm going to be sick!" I cry and reach out for something to vomit in. Prim passes me the rusty bucket and I wait a few seconds before heaving and purging the contents of my stomach. My already tender throat burns. I feel embarrassed, humiliated and disgusting. I look up, through tear filled eyes, to see my mother, Prim, Peeta and Gale staring at me. Pity, shock and shame glaring at me in the face, and I can't stand it.

"Get out!" I scream hoarsely. My mother nods and they all scuttle out of the room. As soon as the door clicks shut, I let out a huge gut-wrenching sob and wipe the vomit from my chin with my wrist. I place the bucket beside the bed and roughly pull the covers over my head, burying my face into the soft pillows. My backside is sore and I groan in embarrassment. _What is Peeta going to think of me now?_ _And Gale...a bow and arrow come to mind when I think of him. _

I hear muffled talking outside my bedroom door, but I don't strain to listen. The crickets outside my bedroom window begin to croak their familiar ancient tune. The monotony of their song eventually lulls me into a tense and uncomfortable sleep.

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**PLEASE REVIEW! What do you think should happen next?**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

**Chapter 5**

I wake up the next morning and my mother is sitting on the bed. Her long hair is tied into a tight bun which sits neatly at the nape of her neck.

"I need to check your head," she whispers gently. I nod and sit up groggily. My mother carefully unties the bandage. "It's looking much better," she smiles.

"I want to wash my hair," I grumble. It has been nearly two weeks and I haven't had the chance to wash it properly. The greasy strands remain in the same messy braid Prim did for me a few days ago.

"I can't right now. I have to check on Posy; she doesn't seem to be recovering well from the flu virus," my mother shakes her head and pulls out a fresh bandage. She wraps my head up like an Egyptian mummy.

"When can I stop wearing the bandages?" I sigh.

"I'd say...another couple of weeks." My mother stands and smoothes out her plain dress. "I'll be back soon. Get dressed. You'll feel better if you do." I pull the covers over myself and sink back into the pillows.

A few minutes later, after hearing the click of the front door, I yank the covers off myselfand stride into the kitchen. I gaze at the clock on the wall. 2:45pm. _Did I really sleep that long?_ I march into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Grey eyes glare back at me, faint bruising darkens the delicate skin underneath. The bandage looks ridiculous, so I unravel it and let it drop to the floor. I flinch when I see my wound for the first time. A large red gash zig-zags across the right side of my forehead. I lean closer to the mirror and notice the stitches, sewing my skin together like a patched up rag-doll. _When did my mother do the stitches?_ I then notice my hair, flattened by the tight bandage and greasy from days of not being washed. The horror of Peeta seeing me like this makes my stomach lurch. _But he has seen me like this; he kissed me when I looked like this!_

I stare at the small bath in the corner of the room. I know I shouldn't wash my hair, at least not without help. Otherwise, I risk getting my wound wet and I'm sure I heard my mother say something about keeping it dry.

There is a knock at the front door and my heart skips a beat. Peeta. The memory of my fall yesterday, my public display of vomiting and hysterical screaming makes me want to hide away, but my heart leads me to the door.

"Where's the bandage?" Peeta smiles and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. He holds a large paper bag; the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the open door.

"I need to wash my hair," I grumble, stepping aside to allow Peeta to walk through.

"How are you feeling?" Peeta questions, completely ignoring my flippant remark. He places the paper bag on the kitchen table.

"Embarrassment, alongside a huge dollop of humiliation," I groan. Peeta walks up to me and takes my hands in his.

"Only you could make vomiting attractive," he smiles, brushing loose strands of my hair behind my ear and gazing intently at my forehead. I roll my eyes. "Do you want me to help you wash?" Peeta's eyes flicker to mine. They are serious and smoulder straight through me**,** branding me as his. An image of being naked in the bathtub with Peeta flashes through my mind and heat rises into my cheeks. I slowly nod, wondering what I'm getting myself into.

I grip Peeta's hand in mine and hesitantly lead him into the bathroom. I turn on the faucet**,** allowing the warm water to fill the tub. Peeta appears apprehensive. The same boldness, which often comes to me at the most inappropriate times, automatically moves my hands to my braid. I undo it and place the band on the side table. Peeta shuts the bathroom door causing the room to fill with heat and steam. Once the tub is nearly full, I turn off the faucet and face him as he licks his lips. The look of need in Peeta's eyes spurs me on giving me a surge of confidence I never knew I had. I fold my arms across my body and tentatively clasp the sides of my nightdress and begin to pull it up.

"Don't," Peeta whispers, placing his hands over mine, "You don't have to do this."

"I want you to see me," I reply brusquely. The thought of his eyes on my naked body drives me crazy. I need Peeta to want me; I need to see the hunger in his eyes, the same desire I saw yesterday when we kissed.

"I don't want to take advantage of you," he splutters.

I shake my head and swiftly pull my nightdress off. I feel the mixture of cool air and heated steam lick at my exposed skin. Dropping the material to the floor, Peeta tries not to look at my bare breasts; he stares into my eyes and lets out a long, strangled sigh. My stomach contracts in a good way. I have recently felt so helpless and useless, but Peeta makes me feel wanted, needed.

"You can look," I whisper, as if someone would hear me if I spoke too loud.

Peeta's eyes instantly drop to my chest. "Fuck," he says breathlessly. I revel at the look in Peeta's eyes as they greedily take me in. Placing my fingers under the waistband of my underwear, I pull the material down my legs and place them on top of my nightdress, which lays crumpled on the floor.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers wantonly. I watch his gaze flicker to between my thighs and I notice how the pink in his cheeks stands out against his pale skin. My own skin tingles and I take a step closer.

"Relax," I encourage him. He nods and I move his hands to my waist and place a gentle kiss on his lips. When I pull back, his eyes are closed and his brow creased. "Touch me," I beg.

Peeta's eyes flash open revealing the look I've longed for; he wants me as much as I need him. The light in the bathroom is muted, emanating a romantic glow, and the steam that surrounds us makes the atmosphere almost dream-like. Peeta's strong hands move to my back and I close my eyes, enjoying the intimacy, relishing in the scandalous feeling of my naked body pressed against his white cotton shirt and denim jeans. His hands travel up my back, across my shoulder blades and down again, gently caressing my backside. Peeta moves slightly, peering over my shoulder. He traces soothing circles across my left butt cheek. The skin there is tender from my fall yesterday and I unexpectedly flinch from the pain.

"You've got a bruise," Peeta's voice is soft, like a feather brushing against my bare shoulder. I turn to see for myself and he is right. A large purple bruise, with a fading yellow outer rim, stands out against the lighter skin of my backside. I watch his fingers tenderly smooth across the bruise again. "Does it hurt?" Peeta questions. His fingers continue to trace my sensitive flesh, around and around, sending a pleasurable ache across my skin.

"My body always hurts at the moment," I chuckle derisively.

"I wish I could make you feel better." Peeta presses a gentle kiss against my temple, near to my stitches. I close my eyes and breathe heavily. I know that this is wrong, that I'm giving parts of myself to Peeta that shouldn't, at least not yet, but there is something different about him. There is something between us I can't logically explain. I desperately want him to love me. I tense as I think of _that_ word. Love. An emotion I only thought I could feel for Prim. I can't love Peeta. No. It's just an infatuation, a physical attraction. He doesn't know me and I don't know him that well, either. Since the accident, however, I have even felt like a stranger to myself; it's like my whole life has been turned on its head, spun around and upside down until it can't walk straight.

I begin to feel dizzy and my head thuds painfully. Peeta runs his hands up and down my exposed arms, causing goose pimples to rise on my skin. I move my arms to encircle his waist and hug him close to me. He embraces me back and I whimper from the comfort and reassurance of his strong arms.

"What if I don't get better?" I mumble thoughtlessly.

Peeta holds me tighter, "You will. I know you will. You'll be out hunting again soon and...I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you," I whisper against his chest.

"Let's start by giving you a good wash!" I hear the laughter in his voice and pull away to see a small smirk lingering on his lips. He steps back, gesturing towards the bath and then starts to roll up his shirt sleeves as if preparing himself for a hard day's labor.

I feel childish as I immerse myself into the warm water. Peeta watches me, his hands resting on his hips and there is a very indiscrete bulge in his pants. I begin to laugh and he looks down at his crotch. He chuckles, too.

"Did you think I could do this task without one?" he says and awkwardly readjusts himself in his pants.

"Thanks for the compliment," I continue to laugh, making the water in the bathtub slosh around. Peeta kneels beside me. After my laughter fades, I grab the container I use to wash my hair, fill it up with water from the bathtub, and lean my head back. I place one of my hands over my stitches as I shield and pour the water over my hair. It's wonderful to feel the warm water trickle over my aching scalp, down my back and over my chest. Peeta's eyes are dark and trained carefully on my face.

"You can have a go if you want," I offer him the container. He takes it and scoops the water from the bathtub.

"Okay, lean your head back," I do as I am asked. Peeta copies my last actions by putting his hand over my stitches and slowly allowing the water to wet my hair. I close my eyes as Peeta refills the container and continues to pour the water over me.

"That feels good," I moan thickly. Peeta does it three more times and then asks me to pass him the shampoo. I watch him as he squirts a small dollop of pearly white liquid into his left palm. The sweet smell of lavender invades the room as Peeta begins to lather the shampoo into my hair. He is incredibly gentle and his delicate massage soothes the constant ache in my head. After rinsing my hair, Peeta watches me as I rub soap into my skin. He sighs breathlessly as I move my soapy hands across my breasts and between my legs. A suggestive grin pulls at the corners of my mouth as I rinse myself with the now lukewarm water.

"The towel is behind the door," I say. Peeta dutifully fetches it as I get out of the bath and stand on the mat beside the tub before wrapping itaround me.

"Thanks," I smile and begin to dry myself. In any other situation, Peeta's intense staring would have made me nervous, but I am lasciviously enjoying his vehement gaze.

"Do you feel better?" Peeta stands before me as I carefully towel dry my hair. I nod.

"You have no idea..." I am stopped mid-sentence as Peeta grabs my bare hips and slams his lips to mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. The towel falls wetly to the floor as Peeta's hands caress my backside. I cup his face with both of my hands as he continues his assault on my mouth. He groans deeply and I press my breasts against his shirt-covered chest.

"Fuck, Katniss, you make me so horny…" His use of such bawdy language sends a pleasurable tingling heat between my thighs and I try to unbutton his shirt, aching to feel his skin against mine. Unfortunately, my fingers are not able to push the small plastic buttons through the holes, so I resort to pulling at his shirt, trying to rip it apart. "Let me help you with that," Peeta chuckles as he unbuttons his shirt for me. As soon as he pops the last button, my hands greedily run up and down the firm muscles of his chest. I push the shirt over his shoulders and he helps me take it off him; I smooth my hands over his strong biceps. Boldly, I grip my fingers in the waistband of his jeans and press my naked breasts against his exposed chest; we groan in unison at the forbidden contact.

"I'm getting the hint that you like it rough," Peeta laughs as he tightly squeezes my behind, securely pulling my hips against his.

"Lift me up," I instruct him. He does as he is told as I wrap my legs around his waist and feel the pressure I crave. "Yes, Peeta," I groan loudly. He kisses my neck, whilst pressing my back against the flimsy wooden door. I whimper with pleasure as he rubs his erection against me. The rough material of his jeans creates an incredible friction between my legs and I know that I am wet. At first I think the loud banging is Peeta thrusting against me, but I hear my name being called and the door knob twists below my left thigh.

"Katniss, are you okay?" I hear Prim's voice. We both freeze, our eyes a reflection of surprise and panic. My heart pounds against Peeta's chest.

"Katniss? Is Peeta in there with you?" Peeta's eyes widen and he guiltily lowers me to the floor.

"Go away, Prim," I scold her.

"It sounds like you're in pain. Peeta, is she okay?"

"Erm...yes...Katniss is okay, we...err..." Peeta glares at me. "Katniss, help me," he whispers.

"We'll be out in a minute..." I shrug. _I have no idea what to say to her._ I am naked, having just dry humped Peeta Mellark against the bathroom door. _What can I possibly say to that?_ Peeta bends down to retrieve my nightdress and he helps me put it on. I then help him fasten the buttons of his shirt; well, I try, but my hands are shaking and I still have not fully regained my fine motor skills. Once we both look reasonably presentable (except for Peeta's flushed cheeks), I nervously open the bathroom door to find Prim standing there, her arms crossed and a salacious grin set upon her face. Her eyes flicker from me to Peeta and then back to me. I glare at her with a look that says, _Don't you dare make this situation anymore humiliating than it already is! _

"Where's your bandage?" Prim asks indifferently, but grins at Peeta.

"Peeta was helping me wash my hair," I say and push past her into the kitchen. Peeta follows me, red cheeked and eyes downcast.

"Oh?" she follows us, like a dog catching a scent. Only Prim's favourite scent is gossip; gossip that revolves around boys, a much-loved pastime of hers.

"I should go," Peeta exclaims.

"Will you come over tomorrow?" I ask, forgetting all about Prim.

Peeta looks at me sadly. "It's Saturday. The bakery is busy, but I will try."

My heart aches at the thought of not seeing him and I look down at my feet to hide my disappointment. To my surprise, Peeta tilts my chin so I am looking into his bright blue eyes.

"I will miss you every second we are apart." _Damn him. _If anyone else said that to me it would be a swift punch to the gut, but Peeta has me catching my breath and clenching my thighs. Without warning, he firmly presses his lips to mine. The kiss lingers and I am completely lost. _I am a goner._ My lips and body follow him as he pulls away from me, as if I don't want to let go. Peeta smiles at me before turning to Prim, who is staring at us, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"See ya later, Prim," he chuckles nervously and heads towards the front door. And then he is gone. I look at Prim sheepishly.

"Peeta Mellark," she begins, slapping me playfully on the arm. "Mister 'I'm waiting for that special girl' Peeta Mellark!" she laughs. "You're that special girl!" Prim dramatically claps her hand to her mouth.

"What? Prim, no. Don't be silly," I scrunch my nose at the romance of it all.

"Seriously, Katniss, the way he kissed you. Oh my God. _And_ I heard what was going on in the bathroom. You were either moaning in pain or he was giving you..."

"Stop, Prim. Jeez," I cover my ears with my hands, but I can't help a smile. Prim walks over to me and pulls my hands away from my ears.

"I'm 17, Katniss. I know what sex sounds like when I hear it!" I nearly collapse with shock. My little sister, Prim, talking about sex. My mouth bobs open like a fish out of water.

"My friends are going to die when they hear about this!" Prim squeals.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this," I threaten through gritted teeth.

"Tell anyone about what?" Gale says, standing at the open front door. He is earlier than usual and seems to think he can just waltz into our house without knocking. I didn't mind it before, but since the accident he has been acting like a jerk, which means his sudden appearances are particularly unwelcome, by me anyways.

I shake my head at Prim and place a finger on my lips to silence her, but it doesn't work.

"I caught Katniss and Peeta '_kissing'_ in the bathroom..." she trills. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, is that so," Gale grumbles as he ostentatiously struts into the kitchen. His look of disapproval sends anger pulsating through me.

"Gale, it's none of your business, and Prim, stop sticking your nose where it's not wanted!" I yell.

"What's going on?" My mother appears.

"For fuck's sake!" I shout. _Is there any privacy in this house? _

"Katniss, don't curse!" my mother replies in horror. I grumble under my breath and storm into the bedroom. Gale follows and shuts the door so it is just me and him.

"Don't start, Gale. I've heard enough from you," I say irritably.

Gale holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, Katniss. About everything I said," I look up at him in surprise. He looks exhausted; dark rings sit under his eyes and his face is ashen. "I don't want to see you hurt."

I snort in disbelief and cross my arms, "Well, the only person who seems to be hurting me is you!"

"I'm exhausted from working in the coal mines and helping Prim hunt. I just let my feelings for you get out of hand," he confesses.

It suddenly dawns on me how much Gale has been trying to help my family, to make sure we don't go hungry. I ignore Gale's last comment. We both know he still has feelings for me, but it's not what I want; I have made that loud and clear.

"Look," Gale continues, "If you want to see Peeta, then fine, but I don't trust him or his family. They are Merchants..."

"I know, but Peeta is different. You need to give him a chance."

"What will people say when they see you together? It's not socially acceptable," Gale shakes his head.

"I don't care. I don't care what people think," I lie. _What will Peeta's mother think? She knows me as the starving Seam girl that used to raid the bakery bins for food. _"I just need time to figure all this out." There is a flash of frustration in Gale's eyes, but he sighs and shakes his head.

"If he breaks your heart, I will have to kill him." I roll my eyes _(I seem to be doing a lot of that lately)._

"I am not weak, Gale. I can handle myself."

"I know you're not weak. You're pure, and I don't want anyone to take that away from you," Gale steps closer to me.

"You can't always protect me." As long as I have known Gale, he has always felt like it was his job to look after me; teach me how to make snares, making sure I always have enough to eat.

"I know, but I will always try," he then pulls me into a hug. I tense slightly, remembering that I am not wearing any underwear, which makes me feel extremely awkward. I hug him back. Prim walks in and we pull apart.

"Mom wants me to put your bandage back on," she says, holding a balled-up white bandage in her hand.

Gale moves towards the door. "I'll be in the kitchen, Prim. Don't be long; we can't afford to lose the light." I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for Prim to begin wrapping my head. Instead, she sits beside me.

"I have a really good idea," she says excitedly.

I feel my eyebrow rise in suspicion. "What are you talking about?"

"Tomorrow, you and I will go to the bakery to see Peeta. You could bring him a gift to say thank you for the bread." Prim puts her hands together as if she is praying.

"I don't think that is a good idea. Number 1, my head," I point to my stitches, "And, number 2, I don't think Peeta wants me to suddenly turn up at the bakery."

"Oh, come on, Katniss. Of course he would! You need to get out of the house anyway. Mom already said yes," Prim laughs as she knows that would have been my next excuse. I used to go to the bakery to trade all the time and Mr. Mellark was always very welcoming. Maybe it won't be so bad. Also, Prim's idea about taking Peeta a thank you gift would be nice. I could at least feel like I have recompensed Peeta a little for all the bread he has given us.

"Fine," I sigh.

"Excellent!" Prim squeals as she stands up and unravels the bandage, preparing to wrap it around my head. I feel sick. Finally something good is happening; however, what I have grown to know about the serendipity of life is that good things always come at a price.

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**Please Review. What do you think? Do you think Katniss should visit Peeta? What gift should she bring him? What should happen next?**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

Chapter 6

I was so concerned with my own situation that it had not crossed my mind how the tornado might have affected other people in District 12. It has been a few weeks since it hit and a lot of debris had been cleared away, but there are gaping holes where homes used to stand, the streets now resembling toothless grins. Prim and I walk side-by-side towards The Hob. We pass piles of shattered glass and splintered wood. Broken and bent trees stick their branches out awkwardly in random directions. Most houses stand shakily, missing a wall, a roof. The bare skeletons of buildings stand lonely and abandoned. Some families gather under makeshift shelters built from the rubble and I wonder what will become of them.

"We were really quite lucky," I murmur whilst staring at a little girl, barely clothed, searching aimlessly through a pile of trash.

"We still are," Prim replies.

"Has the Capitol sent any help?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Nope, nothing. I think the Capitol is pretending we don't exist," Prim says.

I laugh sardonically. "They could, at least, give us food and water. It's not like they haven't got enough for themselves." I clench my teeth. Prim shrugs, defeated.

The Hob and the town centre seem positively untouched by the tornado. As always on a Saturday, The Hob is bustling with illegal bartering and trade. I was surprised when a few people approached to wish me well and to say how glad they were to see me up-and-about: Ripper, Greasy Sae, Haymitch (the local drunk), Peacekeeper Darius and even the tolerable Head Peacekeeper, Cray. Darius chuckled at my bandage, saying that I looked like I was wearing one of the white peacekeeper uniform helmets.

"Prim, I don't think we should be trading game for gifts," I say disapprovingly. Prim and Gale snared a couple of rabbits and Prim also managed to kill a squirrel with my bow and arrow. I couldn't bear to look at the poor creature, as the arrow had pierced its stomach: _"I did aim for the head, but it moved too quickly,"_ Prim had said when she first presented it to me. It still hurts to think about Prim hunting in the woods, trying to provide for our family, whilst I can barely hold a knife and fork.

I watch my little sister as her eyes dart across to one of the stalls, admiring the numerous trinkets. "What about this?" Prim picks up a ring, but at closer inspection I notice, within the hollow of the ring, there is a small bird. "It's a pin, I think," she says, as if answering my thoughts.

The bird holds an arrow in its beak and is connected to the ring by the tips of its wings. I suddenly realize what it is. "A mockingjay," I whisper, taking the pin and holding it up to the light.

"Katniss, look, it's holding an arrow in its beak. It's perfect," Prim squeals excitedly. I have to agree, it is lovely; a perfect gift, but we can't afford it. My stomach reminds me of the lack of food we have. However, before I can protest, Prim is exchanging the two rabbits and the squirrel for the pin.

"No, we can't," I say. The vendor stares warily at me.

"Yes, we can. Peeta has brought us bread nearly every day since your accident. You said you don't like debts; this is the first step to paying him back."

"We can't afford it," I shake my head vehemently.

"If you want it that badly, I'll take only one of the rabbits and the squirrel," the vendor offers. I look at the pin in my hand and trace my thumb over the delicate mockingjay and the arrow in its beak.

"That's a bargain, Katniss, please," Prim begs.

"Okay," I relent hesitantly.

I stare longingly at the game as Prim passes them to the vendor. I slip the pin in my jacket pocket knowing that later tonight, when the hunger pains are at their worst, I might possibly regret agreeing to this whole thing.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Prim asks as we approach the back door to the bakery.

"No, I'll meet you back at The Hob in an hour." I realize if Peeta is at the bakery and I get to spend some time with him, I don't really want to have my sister hanging around. It would be too uncomfortable, especially after the bathroom situation the day before. Prim nods and touches my arm.

"He'll love the pin," she smiles encouragingly before turning and heading back towards The Hob.

I gaze up at the building, remembering the last time I was here. It was just before the tornado and my accident. The light from the hot sun strikes across the dull, peeling paintwork of the bakery walls. I take the mockingjay pin in my hand and clench my fist tightly around it. Usually, on a Saturday, Mr. Mellark is at the bakery, so I am not worried about Peeta's mother being there.

I knock on the door and hold my breath. My heart thumps widely in my chest from the excitement of seeing Peeta. However, I'm surprised when another man, I do not recognize, opens the door. He is probably in his mid-twenties and has blonde hair and blue eyes. He must be Peeta's brother. There is a striking resemblance, but this man's eyes are darker and stare coldly at me.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Is Peeta there?" I question lamely.

The man's eyelids flicker and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth.

"You must be the Seam girl Peeta runs off to visit every day." He leans against the doorframe. He looks confident, almost arrogant.

"Yes," I reply. His eyes rake over me making me feel awkward. He briefly looks at the bandage around my head.

"Peeta's not here, but he'll be back soon. Would you like to come in and wait?" I am taken aback by his offer. I have never been invited in, not even by Mr. Mellark. For a split second, I think about refusing, but I am too intrigued to see the inside of the bakery.

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble." I say. He smiles and steps aside.

I was expecting to walk straight into the kitchen, but the backdoor leads into a small room lined with sacks of flour. The atmosphere is humid and the smell of baking bread makes my stomach churn with hunger. I hear the faint clatter of metal tins and the hum of machines.

"I'm Rye, by the way. Peeta's brother," I turn to see Rye standing by the closed door.

"Katniss," I mumble.

"That's an interesting name," he says.

I shrug, "I'm named after the plant." He smirks, but then his face becomes sombre.

"Peeta mentioned your accident. It's a shame that a pretty girl like you is going to have such a massive scar." I blush slightly. _Pretty?_ "It doesn't bother _me,_ though,"he adds, taking a step closer. I tense. Something isn't quite right.

I follow his gaze to the left and he is looking at the large clock on the wall. He turns back to me and licks his lips.

"Peeta isn't going to be back for another 20 minutes. How about we go upstairs?" My heart sinks. I have the feeling he doesn't want to take me on a tour of the bakery. Rye runs his hand up and down my arm before trying to slip my jacket off. I pull away sharply.

"What are you doing?" I ask incredulously.

"Come on, you must be good if Peeta keeps coming back for more. I won't tell - let it be our secret." My mouth becomes dry and Gale's warning trickles down my spine. "I'll pay double what Peeta is paying you," Rye adds. I grip the mockingjay pin in my hand so hard that it digs painfully into my skin. _Peeta has been telling his brother that I am a Seam slut._ I shake my head, reigning in the urge to punch the lascivious grin from Rye's face.

"Katniss," he continues, stepping closer to me, his voice saccharine. "You're damaged goods, so you should take what you can get." Heat rises throughout my entire body from both embarrassment and indignation. Rye moves so close to me that I can feel his cinnamon scented breath on my face. He places both his hands against the wall behind me, trapping me. I am momentarily stunned by the drastic change of events. As Rye moves to kiss my neck, I push furiously against his chest.

"I'm not a prostitute!" I shout. Initially, Rye looks shocked. Confusion contorts his irritatingly handsome features. Then the cavalier smirk returns.

"That's not what Peeta told me." As soon as the words leave his mouth, my heart aches. _Am I supposed to believe Rye? Would Peeta say such a thing? _Rye moves toward me again and I feel unshed tears burn my eyes. Shock and betrayal suddenly turn to anger and I push Rye away forcefully. "Come on, Katniss. Peeta never needs to know. I'm sure he wouldn't mind anyway." That's when I slap him across the face.

"Don't you dare touch me!" I shout.

"What's going on here?" Rye jumps away as if he has been bitten by a poisonous snake. I look up to see Mr. Mellark staring at Rye, then at me. "Katniss?" he questions with disbelief as if I am some sort of illusion. The mockingjay pin is heavy in my hand. I know Mr. Mellark can see my tears but he pretends not to notice. "Have you come to trade?" he asks with noticeable pretence. I shake my head. There is a vexatious silence. Uncertain glances are shared between Mr. Mellark and his son. As if in a stupor, I turn to the door and open it calmly. Neither of the two men say anything to me as I leave.

I don't know where I'm walking, but my legs carry me aimlessly whilst my mind swirls with betrayal. _Gale was right; Merchant men can't be trusted._ _Did Peeta really tell his brother I was a prostitute?_ I feel tears of humiliation trickle heatedly down my cheeks. I am so consumed in thought that I don't see the person in front of me and bump right into them. Stumbling backwards, I drop the mockingjay pin into the dirt.

"Katniss?" Peeta is staring at me. He is carrying a large sack of flour. "What happened?" He places the sack onto the ground and reaches out to me. I step back. Peeta's eyes widen with shock.

"Why are you crying?" he asks worriedly.

"Have you been visiting me because you want to have sex with me?" I sob.

"What?" he says in astonishment.

"I went to see you at the bakery. Your brother, he asked me to have sex with him. You told him I was a prostitute." I wipe away some of the tears from my face with my sleeve. Peeta's eyes narrow and, for a minute, I think he is angry with me.

"No! Don't ever listen to him, he's a jerk."

"He said he would pay double what you were paying!" I shout, but then lower my voice when I notice a few people staring at us.

"He knows I like you. He knows that I am taking bread to you because of your circumstances. I would never treat you like that. You must believe me." Peeta's face is red and his eyes watery. _Is he crying? _

"How can I trust you, Peeta? We barely know each other..."

"Katniss, you're right, we don't know each other that well, but...I really care about you."

"Why?" I question. His feelings for me just seem ridiculous. We are too different.

"I love you. I love everything about you." My cheeks flush with warmth and I feel my hands trembling. "I could never hurt you," he adds, his voice quivering.

I shake my head and take a step back, the gravel underfoot crunching loudly. "Gale warned me. I should've listened to him..."

"I'm different. I'm not like the other Merchant men." Peeta looks down and picks up the mockingjay pin. "You dropped this; what is it?"

I snatch it from him. "It's nothing," I reply flippantly. "I'm not sure whether I can trust you...I don't think you should come over to my house anymore." I clench the mockingjay pin tightly in my sweaty palm.

"Please, Katniss; how can I prove myself to you?" Peeta begs.

I realize that giving Peeta a chance would put my feelings at risk. Trust is not something I give up easily. I look into his blue eyes, which are filled with hope and longing. He steps towards me and takes my hand, which is tightly holding on to the mockingjay pin. His hands are cool and I allow him to peel open my fingers so the pin rests precariously on my palm. He cups the back of my hand.

"Is that a mockingjay?" Peeta asks. I am surprised that he recognised the bird. I nod, wanting to pull away, but give in to the pleasure of his gentle hand against mine. "Mockingjays are strong and beautiful, just like you," he whispers gently. My heart thuds deeply in my chest. Peeta's words are well-articulated rocks, which he is now vigorously pelting at the emotional wall I had built in order to protect myself. My resolve is crumbling. Peeta looks deeply into my eyes. Our connecting hands bridge us together. I am weak for his touch.

"Marry me?" Peeta whispers. The people that were bustling around us before have disappeared and the only sound is the cool breeze dancing past us. I don't take back my hand; I allow Peeta to keep it in his, along with the mockingjay pin twinkling innocently in the warm sunlight. "Marry me," he says again, this time with more conviction. I stand motionless except for my thundering heart and the blood rushing through my veins. Peeta gently closes my fingers around the pin and brings my hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. I don't know what to say; shock, fear and apprehension have become roots**,** firmly planting me to the ground.

"I want to be your husband. I want to take care of you and love you and protect you...always."

A million emotions flood through me and I tear my hand away from Peeta. This is too much. I am not sure I even love Peeta. My head starts to ache.

"Peeta, we barely know each other..."

"I'm fed up with that excuse," he says desperately.

I slowly shake my head. Despite my ambivalence towards my feelings for Peeta, the thought of marriage has always been abhorrent to me. Marriage leads to children and bringing children into this brutally unfair world is something I can't do. I made a promise that I am not willing to break, that I didn't break for Gale and that I am not going to break for Peeta.

I place the mockingjay pin in his hand. He looks at it sadly.

"I'm sorry. I can't," I whimper. "We are too different. Gale is right, it will never work."

"Katniss..."

"Shhh," I place my finger to his mouth before replacing it with my lips. The kiss is tender and I am not sure whether it is Peeta's or my tears that I can taste.

I reluctantly pull away. My attraction to Peeta is too difficult to comprehend.

"Was that a goodbye kiss?" Peeta caresses my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I nod. His brow furrows.

"Thank you, Peeta..." my voice is stronger than I feel, "...for the bread."

"I will still come to your house," he says.

"No," I shake my head. "Please don't." My throat hurts. Peeta and I are chalk and cheese, Merchant and Seam – we are too many worlds apart; we want and need different things.

"I won't give up on you," Peeta whispers determinedly. I press one last kiss to his cheek before turning away. I don't dare look back.

* * *

Thank you for reading -** PLEASE REVIEW! - Chapter 7 coming very soon! **


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

Chapter 7

1 day without Peeta

Peeta keeps to his word. He doesn't visit**, **just as I asked. However, the next day, he leaves a big bag of freshly baked bread on the porch. He is not giving up, like he said he wouldn't. Alongside it, there is a small note with my name scrawled in neat loopy handwriting. I unfold the thin paper. It's a poem, from Peeta. My heart aches and my cheeks flush diffidently.

_Do you remember when we first met?_

_You stood, shivering, in the rain. _

_The clothes you wore were wet._

_I tried to take away your pain._

_Since that day,_

_I have always admired you._

_Your eyes, mysteriously grey. _

_A girl I was hesitant to pursue._

_Time went by._

_It really flew. _

_Then, a natural disaster burst from the sky._

_And I realized, I couldn't live without you._

I feel exasperated_. _I want to trust Peeta. I really do. The poem says it all – Peeta's feelings for me are not a joke or a ploy to get me into bed. They are _real_. The question I need to ask myself is this. _Do I love Peeta? _I shake my head. I have officially gone insane. I have never, in my whole life, felt as confused as I do now.

Peeta has become a distraction for me. I don't love him; I can't love him. Yes, there is a physical attraction. I have to admit I fancy the pants off of him, quite literally. His soft blonde hair and his kind blue eyes, not to mention his gentleness. I long to have his hands on me. I crave his kiss, but what if that's it? I can't risk hurting him. Love is a fool's game and I'm not going to play.

2 days without Peeta

Another day gone. Another bag of bread rolls sits on the porch; and to my horror, another poem.

_When I came to visit you_

_That very first time._

_Your beautiful skin was black and blue. _

_I had to make you mine._

_You could barely talk,_

_But I could tell you felt it, too._

_Your legs could hardly walk._

_Yet my love for you grew._

It was shorter this time. _Why is Peeta relaying our brief relationship in poetry?_ I want to forget about him. I want to forget about this whole situation: the accident, the fact that I am useless and dependent on everyone else.

"What's that?" Prim asks. I crumple up the poem like a piece of trash.

"Nothing, just a scrap piece of paper," I mumble. I feel bad for calling Peeta's poem scrap.

"Why is Peeta leaving the bread outside? He should come in for tea or something," Prim says, riffling through the bread bag. She is wearing my hunting clothes and anger trembles inside me like hot magma, bubbling within the chamber of a dormant volcano. I thought I could accept this role change. Prim being the breadwinner. Prim the hunter. Katniss the helpless, needful child. But I hate it. I resent Prim's ability to hold things steady, to walk without stumbling, and to talk without hesitation.

I stare at her perfect blonde Dutch braid, which winds diagonally along the back of her head and rests neatly across her left shoulder. She takes a large bite from a soft bread roll. "I'm so glad Peeta is still bringing the bread. We would starve otherwise. My hunting skills are nothing compared to yours, Katniss," Prim takes another bite. "You haven't eaten. Is everything okay?"

I didn't tell Prim about my encounter with Rye and my 'break-up' (if you can call it that) with Peeta. I was too embarrassed and Prim's startled, gossipy-girl reaction would only annoy me. So I lied, the first of many. I spun a story to make Prim sigh with happiness.

"_I knocked on the bakery door. Peeta was pleased to see me," I told her insipidly. _

"_Did he kiss you?" Prim asked. _

"_Yes," I replied as convincingly as possible. I'm usually a terrible liar, but Prim, luckily, didn't catch the scent."Did you give him the mockingjay pin?" Prim grabbed my hand at that point. I nodded in response. Her excitement made me feel terrible for lying to her. "What did he say?"_

"_He said he loved it and that it reminded him of me." That was a half-truth. He did say that. Prim caught her breath and sighed dramatically. I thought I would go for broke and immediately regretted it as soon as it slipped out of my mouth. _

"_He said he loves me..." I literally wanted to punch myself. I'd dug a huge gapping hole filled to the brim with lies and half-truths. Prim hugged me tightly and, to my surprise, said something that made me catch my own breath. _

"_He would be stupid not to." _

"You need to eat. Peeta doesn't want a super skinny girlfriend..." Prim winks at me. I force a laugh. A pretty convincing one, if I do say so myself.

"I'm not hungry. I'll eat later," I say flippantly, trying to make it a non-issue. I haven't eaten anything substantial for a while. Plus, there isn't really anything to eat except for Peeta's bread. "Are you going hunting this morning?" I change the subject quickly.

Prim smiles and nods. "I'm going to set up some snares. I'll check them after school," Prim says hopefully. We both know that Prim snaring or killing anything is a slim possibility. She might…we hope. "Mom said that she'd be out most of the day. That flu Posy's got is really bad, apparently a few others have gotten it and a bunch of other illnesses are going around," Prim finishes the bread roll she's eating.

"I'm not surprised," I say dryly. The way some people are living, or should I say surviving, after the tornado has probably left the Seam a breeding ground for new illnesses. It's not uncommon, after a natural disaster like the tornado, for the Capitol to just write us off as an inconvenience that, if ignored, will just go away. _What's the loss of a few hundred District 12 lives anyway?_ I feel my fists clench. Gale hates the way the Districts, particularly the outlying Districts, are treated by the _omniscient _Capitol. _"They treat us like slaves, keeping us subdued with poverty,"_ Gale would often say. If there were ever a revolt against the Capitol, Gale would probably be the one to lead it.

"Hopefully Peeta will visit today," Prim says whilst swinging her school bag over her shoulder. It's pink, which is a complete contrast to the rough, dark greens and browns of my hunting gear that she is wearing. I often wonder what her pretty, flowery friends say about her sudden change in fashion sense. It's as if Prim has actually turned into me. She has, unwittingly, stolen my identity. _Who am I if I can't hunt? _Without the distraction of Peeta, I begin to feel jealous of Prim's new hunting partnership with Gale. I dread the lonely day ahead.

14 days without Peeta

Every day. Every day, Peeta leaves bread and a tasty new poem, which I have begun to greedily eat with my eyes. I often leave the bread. It's the poem I want. I have started a secret collection, which I hide under my bed, for my eyes only. They lessen the loneliness and distract me from the uncomfortable feelings of resentment. The poems have gone from romantic to quite intimate. Peeta eloquently tells me how he wants to kiss me. How and where his hands will touch me. I try not to read these poems before going to bed because I will usually end up slipping my hands between my legs and touching myself to Peeta's poetic imagery. It makes me feel dirty. I mustn't do it.

21 days without Peeta

I'm worried. It's becoming a filthy habit. I lock myself in my room at night, take off my bandage, and trace the angry red scar with my fingers. I feel ugly, tarnished. I retrieve Peeta's poems from under the bed. I begin by reading the first few and then I strip naked and slip into bed with the rest. With the poems in one hand, and my pussy in the other, I allow my fingers to trace lazy circles between my damp folds. The thin paper, on which the poems are written, is routinely scrunched and crumpled as I grip onto it as I edge closer and closer to orgasm.

25 days without Peeta

The days are long, hot, and lonely. Prim is either at school or hunting. Our mother goes from family to family, healing and saving lives. During this time, I am left alone, with only the bread and the poems to keep me company. I now know all my favorite lines by heart. The other day, I left Peeta a note on the porch, telling him I liked his recent poems very much. In the note, I said that his poems make me do things at night when I am alone. He obviously got my drift and sent me back a very erotic poem that made me retreat to my bed in the middle of the day. No one was around to hear me. I didn't care. I moaned Peeta's name loudly as I came. I waited a few minutes, read the poem again, and forced another orgasm from my sore, sensitive skin.

28 days without Peeta

Today I can hear Peeta at the door, surreptitiously delivering the bread and a freshly written poem. My heart thuds and I consider speaking to him, ending this crazy situation and giving into my primal needs. To just tell Peeta that I'm not sure if I love him, but I know that I desperately want him to fuck me and he must do it right now, with extreme urgency, on the porch, as we have no time to lose. But I don't. I stand lamely against the door and listen to his receding footsteps. As soon as he has gone, I open the front door, grab the bread, find the piece of paper I have been thinking about all morning and open it. A few moments later, I am naked in my bedroom once again. My hands knead my breasts like Peeta said he would do in the poem, as if he was kneading the bread dough at the bakery. Strong and firm. I close my eyes and imagine that it's Peeta's powerful hands moulding me. It's at that moment I make the decision that tomorrow I _will_ open the door and _beg_ Peeta to do everything he said he would do in his poems. I don't care about the repercussions. I want and need Peeta Mellark.

29 days without Peeta.

I've bathed, washed my hair and braided it, letting it trail down my shoulder and across my breast. I look young. My scar is a red, jagged beacon for all to see. I wear a loose fitting shirt, the buttons done up in a haphazardly sexy way (not entirely on purpose due to my rubbish motor skills) and the nicest underwear I own. Prim has gone to school and our mother left hours before. I'm not sure where she has gone to, but, as usual, she will not be back until late afternoon. I stand anxiously at the door waiting for Peeta. I have already decided what will happen:

_Peeta will leave the bread on the porch. Before he goes, I will open the door and ask him to come inside. He will (of course he will). Once inside, I will kiss him, take off his clothes and he will fuck me hard against the front door. _

Well, that's scenario one. Scenario two:

_After opening the door, I will ask Peeta to come inside and of course, he will. We will then make out for several minutes, and then I will proceed to take off his clothes and he will fuck me hard against the front door. _

Okay, not much variation in that, but I like the idea of Peeta screwing me up against a door. I guess I want to finish where we left off in the bathroom that day. There is a third scenario:

_Peeta comes into the house. We make out. Go to the bedroom where he fucks me with his mouth until I can't take it any longer. He then screws me hard against the door. _

OR Scenario four:

_We make out gently, romantically, taking our time to explore each other. Once in the bedroom, we sensuously undress and have teasingly hot, slow sex on the bed. _

Knowing Peeta, he will opt for scenario four. He will want to 'make love'. Anyhow, I can't think straight until I have this man throbbing inside me. I will go insane if this doesn't happen and I don't care if it is hard and fast or slow and sensual. I don't even care if he turns me around and takes me from behind…

My lewd thoughts are interrupted, and my heart stills, as I hear Peeta approach the porch. _Oh, shit. Am I really going to do this? This is so unlike me. Am I going mad?_ I peek through the window and see Peeta placing the bag on the porch. He is more attractive than I remember, more so than what my mind has conjured up practically every night for the past few weeks. He is wearing jeans and that stupid crisp, white bakery shirt which I can't wait to rip off.

Suddenly, Peeta turns to walk away. I panic and swing open the door. "Peeta!" I gasp. He turns quickly, a huge smile on his face. His eyes bounce all over me, from my scar to my braid to my shirt, then down my bare legs. His smile fades slightly and his gaze becomes intense. I don't hesitate a moment longer. I walk up to him and pull him into a forceful kiss, instantly thrusting my tongue into this mouth. He is warm. I pull away. "Come inside?" I ask. He nods. I smile, thinking that all scenarios are still probable. I pull him into the house and shut the door. He attempts to speak, but I urgently reconnect our lips. The kiss is wet, needy. It's all coming from me. Peeta's lips follow my lead. He certainly wasn't expecting this.

I think I like scenario two at the moment. I want to kiss him some more before the fucking starts. I continue to lead. Peeta's hands rest tightly at my waist. I'm gripping and pulling at his hair, hungry for every part of him. I barely recognise myself. I have turned into an insatiable animal. The growl that comes from my throat confirms this.

The firmness of his erection spurs me on. I pull away from the kiss, grip Peeta's shirt and pull buttons pop open, Peeta gasps and I'm surprised by my own strength. Without further ado, I run my hands through his soft chest hair. It's so incredibly sexy. I hear Peeta breathe my name and I undo his jeans. Scenario two – definitely – I can't wait any longer. I slip my hand inside his underwear. He groans and roughly pulls my hands away. Swiftly, he tugs my shirt over my head and throws it across the room. His eyes widen at the sight of my naked chest.

"I love your breasts," he whispers huskily. His voice is deep and filled with lust and I'm pleased that we are not doing scenario four. He grips my shoulders and turns me so that my back is against the door. Scenario two! He sucks hard on my right nipple and pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger. He is firm, but not rough. Perfect.

Scenario two suddenly merges with scenario three, which I like very much. Peeta kneels down and leisurely pulls my underwear down my legs. I step out of them and he dramatically tosses them behind his back. Peeta lifts one of my legs and hooks it over his shoulder. He looks up at me and licks his lips. "You're so wet, I can see it on your thighs." I spread my legs slightly as he slowly slips a finger inside me; his face is so close, and I know he can smell me. "Oh, baby, you're soaking," he chuckles. It doesn't sound like Peeta; he has never called me baby. I don't reply. I never speak during sex – words have never been my forte. Closing my eyes and resting my head on the door, I enjoy the feeling of his finger curling inside me.

I anticipate his tongue between my folds, but suddenly he is standing up, facing me. "You liked my poems?" he questions. I groan. _Not now, Peeta,_ I want to say, but I don't. Instead, I nod wantonly. "I can't stop thinking about you touching yourself. Show me how you did it." Wow, Scenario 1, 2, 3 and 4 have completely gone out the window! Scenario 5 – dirty talk, masturbation and then hard fucking against the door. I'm not going to complain. Peeta steps back and watches me darkly as I run my hand across my stomach and between my legs. Peeta was right, I am sodden. I use this to moisten my fingers and slide them up and down my clit before turning small, tight circles. I'm careful, as I'm still tender from touching myself the night before. _I just can't seem to get enough. I'm messed up. _Peeta strips off his shirt and jeans. I watch him with hooded eyes as my orgasm steadily builds up. Jolts of pleasure course through my body and I squeeze my breast with my free hand. I shut my eyes, and then open them to find Peeta completely naked, running his hand up and down his cock. He's staring at me, watching me touch myself, his own private show.

He presses his muscular body against mine. "Keep going," he whispers insistently into my ear. My fingers pick up their pace and Peeta sucks on my neck, replacing my hand on my breast with his. Without forewarning, I am catapulted into an orgasm. Peeta rips my hand away and replaces it with his, rubbing and slipping his cool fingers against me intensifying the pleasure. He was watching carefully, and is a quick study. He replicates the same pleasurable movements I was previously doing to myself. I'm panting profusely and I feel dazed. It wasn't enough, nowhere _near_ enough. "Fuck me, Peeta," I say through tapered breath.

Peeta hesitates. "I haven't got protection," he says.

"My mother's a healer, I'll sort it out afterwards. Your job, right now, is to screw me against this door!" _I can't believe my own words. I don't even recognise my own voice. I am possessed. _

Without a second thought, Peeta lifts me up and sinks himself inside me. I wrap my legs tightly around him and yelp as he stretches me. It's been a long time since I've had sex. I've only been with one other man (Gale) and it never felt like this.

Peeta stops, buried to the hilt inside me. "Are you okay?" I wish he wouldn't ask that. It makes it so much harder for me to keep my feelings in check.

"Yes, Peeta, I'm fine. Am I tight? Does it feel good?" I ask him. Here I am, breaking my tradition of not speaking during sex.

"You're perfect," he kisses me tenderly and begins a firm, steady succession of thrusts, stretching me and creating a light, teasing friction against my swollen clit.

I am liquid as his firm, yet slow thrusts slowly untie me. Again, I feel the familiar pull of an orgasm. I am surprised by what Peeta says next. "I love you." I come undone. I whimper Peeta's name as waves of pleasure lick at my sensitive flesh. I barely notice him spilling himself inside me and then lowering me to the floor. I am startled back into reality when I feel a warm liquid seep out from inside me and trickle down my leg. He presses his forehead against mine.

"Sorry, I had to say it. I couldn't help myself." I shake my head, because it's okay.

He runs his hand up and down my sweaty arm. We kiss languidly before Peeta pulls away. "I know you don't love me, but I'll gladly take whatever you can give me," he says. I must look dumbfounded. Peeta continues. "If you are lonely, I'll keep you company. If you are sad, I'll try and make you happy. If all you want is sex, then make me your sex slave..." he winks at me. I smile guiltily. What kind of terrible person am I to use someone who loves me for my own selfish needs?

"That's selfish, Peeta. I can't do that..."

"I give you permission to be selfish with me... Please, I need you in my life. Whatever way you'll have me. Even as friends..." Peeta negates the whole 'friends' comment by tenderly kissing down the length of my neck and I feel that familiar stirring inside me. Deep down, I knew having sex with Peeta would only complicate things, but I can't seem to stop wanting him. And now I've had him, now I've had a taste, I know I'll want to come back for more.

Here is Peeta, offering me exactly what I want – his body – ina no hang-ups, no expectation, no pressure, secret 'agreement' hidden from the judging eyes of his mother and all the other judgmental, disapproving nobodies. It's the safest bet, but will it work?

I look into Peeta's kind, trusting, and hopeful eyes. "I can't promise I'll love you, Peeta. I...I'm not really sure how I feel about you. You make me insane..." He continues to suck on my neck. He is not making this easy.

Peeta tugs gently on the end of my braid. "You're so cute when you wear your hair like this," he says, moving his lips to my shoulder and down to my breasts. He is enjoying himself, playing with me, whilst I am in the middle of a very important moral dilemma.

"Peeta, please, I can't think straight when you are doing that," I grumble. He pops my nipple from his mouth and stands, facing me.

"Sorry, I just can't help myself. Let's get dressed." I nod.

A few minutes later, after cleaning myself up, I find Peeta sitting at the kitchen table fully dressed, his button-less shirt showing of his muscular chest.

"I found three of the buttons, but I'm not sure where the others are," Peeta smirks. A set of three small plastic shirt buttons rest on the table next to my earlier discarded underwear. Then I notice it, as beautiful as I remember – the mockingjay pin. Peeta is wearing it on this shirt. I can't believe I didn't notice it before.

"The pin!" I exclaim.

"Yep, it makes me think you like me more than you let on," Peeta grins, standing up and pulling me against him.

"It was just a gift. A thank you for the bread," I shrug.

"Do you still want me to bring the bread, like I did today?" Peeta smirks. There is a wicked tone to his voice and I realize he is not just referring to the bread.

"Yes, please," I say sweetly.

"Every day?" Peeta questions mischievously.

"If you can keep it up?" I laugh deeply and salaciously.

"Sounds like a good deal to me," Peeta grins and kisses me hotly. His tongue slides across mine before he pulls away. "I'd better get going." I nod and walk him to the door.

"Oh, Katniss..." I look at him expectantly... "Make sure you wear that cute nightdress and..." he pauses thoughtfully, "...don't wear any underwear," he grins lecherously. I slap him playfully on the arm before kissing him on the cheek.

"See you tomorrow," I say. Halfway down the path, Peeta turns and smiles at me. I smile back and watch him carefully as he continues to walk away.

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Thank you for reading -** PLEASE REVIEW! **


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

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Chapter 8

I lie naked on the bed, my chest pressed against the smooth cotton sheets. Peeta hovers above me, his bare skin now a familiar story, as I know every freckle, every hair**.** I have even counted the burns on his arms and the small round scars on his back (I wonder how he got those?) He presses soft, gentle kisses across my shoulders, then down my back, delicately touching his lips to each ridge of my spine. It sends shivers across my already goose-pimpled skin. I have never felt so loved, yet I feel guilt ride up into my stomach at the way he tucks my hair behind my ear and presses his lips gently against my scar. He keeps telling me how beautiful I am, even when I know I'm not.

Since the hot sex against the door scenario, Peeta's visits have been frequent and lust-filled. After two months of hard, insatiable fucking, Peeta has slowed it down, _a lot_. I thought I would hate that, but I don't.

Peeta rolls off me and pulls me into a hug; another thing I thought I would hate**,**hugging or cuddling. To Peeta's shock, and my own embarrassment, I cried the first time we held each other after sex. He had pressed me against his strong chest and whispered into my ear how beautiful and perfect and loveable I am. The emotion was overwhelming. I had never been held so tenderly, always being the one to hold and comfort my mother and Prim.

I splay my hand on Peeta's bare chest, over his heart. "Tell me more about when you were a child," I ask. One afternoon, a couple of days ago, Peeta had told me some childhood stories;in particular, the story of when he first saw me singing in the music assembly at school. He is a good storyteller, asI was captivated by the way he described everything to the last minute detail.

Peeta sighs and pulls the bed sheet over our naked bodies and lies on his side so his face is close to mine, his bright blue eyes boring into my soul. He strokes my hair, tenderly kissing my scar. I want to capture this moment and never let it go. He leans back and my heart sinks as I see sadness in his eyes.

"My childhood wasn't…great," he pauses slightly, his Adam's apple bobs up and down from emotion.

"Tell me, I want to know everything about you," I place my hand against his cheek.

"I don't want to upset you," he sighs. I knew that his mother wasn't a saint, however I was strangely fascinated to find out more about the Mellarks.

"My mother is a bitch, that's basically it," Peeta grumbles.

"What did she do to you?" I whisper.

Peeta closes his eyes. "Do you really want to know?" He opens them and I nod, the movement of my head against the pillow making a _shush-shush _sound. He wraps his arms around me and I nuzzle into his chest.

"She didn't like me as much as my older brothers. When I was born, she was disappointed because she wanted a girl. That's what she used to tell me."

"Oh," I reply sorrowfully.

"She used to blame me for everything, but that was okay. I could handle that. It was the punishments she'd dole out that I hated the most." My chest tightens at his words. I lean up to look into his eyes.

"Punishments?" I question tentatively. He nods.

"I don't think you want to know about this, Katniss," he tries to put me off again.

"No, I …I want to know." He smiles, but the corners of his mouth don't reach his eyes. He clears his throat.

"If I didn't finish my chores, I would go without dinner…" Peeta begins_._ He places his hand on my bare hip, squeezing it slightly, before caressing it gently. "Or food at all for a few days…I remember drinking cups and cups of water just to fill myself up," he laughs bitterly. "When I was about 8 years old, I was so hungry I stole a couple of cheese buns from the bakery. She caught me…" Peeta stops, his grip on my hip tightening to the point of pain. I look into Peeta's eyes and they look slightly glazed over. "…She stuck her fingers down my throat as punishment…" he trails off. I gasp. Peeta shakes his head as horror grips at my heart. His grip on my hip loosens to a soft caress.

"That's horrendous," I say.

"That's not the worst of it," he sits up, almost excitedly. I follow, clutching the bed sheet to cover my bare chest. He sticks out his right arm and runs his left hand across the patchwork of burn scars and laughs scathingly. "Most of these were not by accident." He doesn't look at me as I edge closer to his side, his breathing heavy.

"And these?" I question, running my hand over the scars peppering his back. He flinches initially, but then his muscles relax.

"Burns…" I shudder. He continues, "Cigarette burns." The information devastates me.

"No," I whimper, dismayed.

Peeta notices my tears. "Please don't cry. It was such a long time ago. She doesn't do it anymore," he says, reaching out to brush away my tears.

"When did she stop?"

"When I got stronger and taller than her, she just stopped…" Peeta shrugs.

"Your Dad?" I splutter in disbelief. _Why didn't he put a stop to this?_

"He is a grade A wimp," Peeta says bitterly.

"Your brothers?" There must have been someone to help Peeta, to look after him.

"They learned a lot from my mother. She even got them to punish me. When I was very little, their favorite punishment was tying me up inside an empty flour sack and beating me with anything they could find." I sit in silent horror as the guilt sets in. Peeta deserves someone who loves him. I want to love him and feel it so badly, but I don't. I have no idea how to comfort someone who has been through so much pain. The silence is deafening as Peeta places his face in his hands and groans. "I've never told anyone this."

I drop the sheet from my chest, awkwardly placing my arms around him and rest my cheek on his shoulder. Peeta lifts his head and looks down at me. His face is blotchy but his eyes are free oftears.

"Thank you for trusting me," I say.

Peeta smiles. "I would trust you with my life. You're my best friend, Katniss," he tells me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I edge closer to his warmth. I think of Gale who was, before the accident and before Peeta, my closet friend. I hardly ever see Gale anymore. Consequently, Peeta has become my friend, my closet friend_._ I've allowed him to know every part of me inside and out. He accepts me for who I am. I have begun to feel closer to Peeta in a few months of friendship than I ever did with Gale over many years.

I want to tell Peeta how much I have grown to care for him, but I'm terrible with words. Peeta doesn't really need words; he knows what I'm thinking and feeling, which simultaneously comforts and scares me. Despite this, I start to panic. I need to say something.

"Best friends with benefits." I regret it as soon as I say it. Peeta laughs and squeezes me tighter. He's got the giggles. "What?" I ask, pretending that what I said wasn't completely random and inappropriate.

Peeta pushes me down so he is lying on top of me. "That's why I love you," he grins widely. I cock an eyebrow and he kisses my nose.

"You're a great listener, you're funny, and incredibly sexy." He maneuvers us so my legs are spread and he is settled between them, his arousal teasing my entrance.

"But I don't love you back, at least not in the way that you want me to. You deserve better," I say. I feel that heat between my thighs, an itch that I need Peeta, and only Peeta, to scratch.

Peeta reaches for my arms and places them above my head, so I am trapped in his strong grasp. He kisses me forcefully on the lips, and then pulls away slightly, his face only inches from mine. He looks at me seriously, almost dangerously. My heart rate doubles in speed from anticipation.

"I know you love me, you just don't realize it yet." With those words, Peeta thrusts deeply into me,my back arching at the pleasurable intrusion. Peeta's right hand takes both of my wrists, holding me in place. His left hand roughly squeezes my breast as he continues thrusting into me. I feel my wetness soaking my thighs. My hips start to meet his and his grip loosens, so I take advantage of this and free myself, pushing against his chest. He grumbles at the loss of contact.

"Lie on your back," I command. He grins and does as I ask. I straddle him and he slides easily into me. Peeta grabs my gyrating hips and helps me create a steady back and forth motion. I lean over him, my loose hair curtaining both of our faces. My breasts slide teasingly across his hard chest. "I_ love_ fucking you," I growl.

"You don't know what _love_ is," Peeta growls back. I'm not only shocked by his words, but also hurt. _What does he mean by that?_

"And you do?" I question roughly, panting, feeling hot sweat and my arousal mingling between our bodies. I'm too engrossed to care that what I said was verging on cruel, especially after what Peeta told me about his family.

"At least I know what I want it to be," Peeta grabs my ass and thrusts harder, deeper.

"What's that, then?" I pant.

"_You_," Peeta says huskily. I don't have time to question, analyze or even make sense of his answer as the building pleasure between my legs bursts. I push myself back and tip my hips to continue the rubbing friction between us. Peeta must have been close because moments after my orgasm hits, he is groaning my name, spilling into me.

I stay sitting on top of Peeta, relishing in the euphoria, which is quickly fading back into reality.

"What do you mean, _me_?" I ask after catching my breath. Peeta rubs his hands up and down my sticky thighs.

"You are the only person I have ever loved. When I think of love, I think of you." My heart speeds up and I look into his caring blue eyes that have seen so much hurt. I place my hand to my head to feel my own bumpy scar. We almost match. I lean down and kiss him, our tongues slowly and gently moving together a now familiar dance.

After I reluctantly let Peeta leave, I sit on the porch, wrapped in a tired wool shawl. The November air is chilly and I feel the urge to hunt. Peeta's childhood horrors resonate in the air like a dull fog and my guilt is palpable. Before he left, Peeta tried to reassure me that he doesn't expect anything from me, just what I can and want to give him. _At the moment, it's casual sex and therapy sessions_. He laughed when I said that, butI didn't think it was funny.

"You should go hunting," Peeta says as he zips up his jeans. I lie sated on the bed, my chest still heaving from the incredible orgasm he just elicited from me. He laughs. "You okay?" I nod rigorously before sitting up. Peeta picks up my shirt and holds it out for me. I stand and slip one arm in at a time. I turn to face him and he begins to button it up.

"I can't hunt," I say. I turn and climb over the bed, looking for my underwear, knowing full well that I am giving Peeta a wonderful view of my behind and a glimpse between my legs. I turn my head and see him staring and I smile salaciously. With wide eyes, Peeta unzips his pants again and crawls on the bed towards me.

"Come on, we're going hunting," Peeta says one morning after dropping off the bread. I stand at the door in my nightdress with no underwear and two braids instead of one. I thought Peeta might like it, but he seems adamant and completely preoccupied with taking me hunting.

I shake my head. "Peeta, I keep telling you. My hunting days are over. I still can't write properly. How'd you expect me to hold a bow and arrow?" I sigh.

"You haven't even tried. This isn't the Katniss I thought I knew. You're not a quitter!" Peeta grabs my hand and escorts me to my room, flinging open the cupboard doors. It's the same cupboard my mother, Prim and I took refuge in during the tornado. "Where are your hunting clothes?" Peeta questions like he knows what he is talking about.

I laugh. "Fine, you wait in the kitchen whilst I get ready." Peeta grins and kisses me on the cheek.

A few minutes later, I emerge dressed in my old hunting gear. It feels strange, familiar and exciting all at the same time. Peeta watches me wrap a scarf around my neck and pick up the game bag Prim had left empty by the front door the previous night.

"Ready?" he questions. He is also wrapped up warm in a black coat and scarf, looking incredibly handsome. I nod.

My cheeks are pinched red by the cold weather as we edge closer to the District 12 boundary. As soon as we realize we are out of the main town, and out of sight of prying eyes, Peeta and I hold hands. It feels nice. We stop at the electric fence.

"Well, this does cause a problem…" Peeta starts, but I silence him by placing a gloved finger to my lips.

"Listen," I whisper and we do. "What can you hear?" I question a few moments later.

Peeta shrugs. "The wind, that's it," he responds, confused.

"Exactly," I whisper again. I take off my glove and grab one of the thin metal wires of the electric fence. Peeta shrieks in horror. "It's okay," I reassure him. He calms quickly once he realizes that I have not been electrocuted. I laugh. "It's hardly ever on. If it was, we'd be able to hear a whirring noise. Besides, Cray and the other peacekeepers always turn a blind eye to my hunting," I grin, "As long as I keep them supplied with fresh meat." Peeta looks warily at me, as if he's decided this whole hunting expedition was not such a good idea after all. I feel annoyed, but remain quiet. "Come on, then," I wave for him to follow me through the electrified wires, which he does hesitantly.

I take Peeta's hand in mine as we head towards where I hide my bow and arrows and hope that Prim and Gale have not changed the hiding place.

"It's okay," I tell Peeta as we walk.

He sighs shakily. "I'm just worried. Since your accident, there have been a few new peacekeepers distributed throughout the districts. They might not be as accommodating as Cray and the others." I laugh flippantly.

"As long as stupid Cray is in charge, we'll be fine." I say with conviction, hopefully enough to reassure Peeta.

Eventually, I find my bow and arrow in the exact same hiding place. It looks and feels the same, and somehow I feel that I will be able to pick up where I left off. I berate myself for not trying this sooner. Of course I can still hunt, as hunting is my second nature. Peeta stands behind me as I listen for a bird or squirrel or anything that I might be able to practice shooting on. I silently creep forward and Peeta crunches loudly behind me on the fallen leaves.

"Shhh," I turn and Peeta freezes.

"Sorry," he mouths. I smile and turn back to my hunt.

A few minutes pass and I eventually see a fat grey squirrel perched on a branch, scratching its ear with its back paw. It moves its leg at such speed it's almost a blur. I turn to Peeta, give him a thumbs-up and point to the squirrel. He smiles encouragingly at me. I clumsily hook the arrow onto the bowstring, though not as swiftly as I used to be able to. I shakily pull the arrow. It's difficult as my muscles are weak and out of practice. I pull so the end of the arrow rests against my cheek, but my aim is terrible. I feel myself shaking from left to right, my muscles quivering. I can't get a clear shot on the squirrel, which would have been a ridiculously easy target for me before the accident. I feel Peeta behind me, watching. I try my best to aim and then let go; the arrow spins off weakly, descending into a bush at the foot of the tree. The squirrel continues to preen away, still oblivious to the fact that I am trying to kill it. I angrily grab another arrow and try again, this time sending it off in completely the wrong direction. I growl in frustration and throw the bow to the ground. The squirrel looks at me angrily like I have disturbed it from a very important duty.

"Fuck you!" I shout at the squirrel, and it glares at me. I stare it down. It continues to scratch itself, nonplussed and unaffected by my presence. I turn to Peeta, who looks amused. This only heightens my anger. "It's not funny!" I shout. I walk up to Peeta as he continues to laugh.

"Sorry, Katniss, the look on the squirrel's face…" Peeta's face turns from mirth to horror as I push him.

"I said it's not funny!" I push him again and hit him square in the chest. I suddenly realize that I am physically hurting a man who was punched, burnt and beaten throughout most of his childhood. "I'm sorry," I gasp. Peeta recovers quickly.

"No, I deserved that. I shouldn't have laughed." I shake my head and hug Peeta tightly, feeling hot tears trickle down my cheeks. They are tears for my embarrassing hunting skills and more so for my horrendous reaction. I'd hit Peeta. It wasn't a playful push; I was angry and I took it out on him. "It's okay, Katniss," Peeta rubs my back gently. "You just need to practice. I'll help you…" I continue to whimper as he tries to comfort me, burying my face into this neck. "Come on. That's enough for one day. Let's go home." I nod, aching to be at home in the safety of my own bed, with Peeta beside me.

I sleep restlessly that night. The terror on Peeta's face when I pushed and hit him haunts my thoughts. It was as if I had reached inside his chest, pulled out his heart and stomped all over it. _I have always been hotheaded, but how could I have been so thoughtless and cruel?_ I was behaving like his mother, viciously punishing him for no reason at all.

I had not stopped apologizing the whole journey back through the woods, past the electric fence, through the main town and even when Peeta dropped me off at home and said goodbye. He told me it was okay and that he loves me. I should have told him that I love him, but I didn't.

At 5 in the morning, I give in to the fact that I'm not going to get any more sleep. It is pitch black outside and my mother and Prim are fast asleep. It's Sunday, which means Prim doesn't have school and my mother said she wants to spend some quality time with us. I have not yet revealed the extent of my relationship with Peeta to Prim or my mother. However, I know Prim has some inkling, having come home early from school one day and was unable to get into my room because we had barricaded the door (just in case). She didn't tease me like the last time, she just smirked a lot.

As I lie in bed, I have an interesting thought. _I should go hunting._ I could practice my shooting and then show Peeta. It's just before dawn, which means if I go now, I could be back in time for breakfast. I jump out of bed, wash, dress, eat a small piece of bread and write a short note to my mother and Prim. I grab the game bag and I'm out the door as the dawn's first light surreptitiously peeks over the horizon. I follow the same path Peeta and I took only a few hours before, a familiar journey I could probably walk with my eyes closed.

I reach the electric fence by the time the sun has risen. I listen for the hum, but there is silence. I climb through and begin to jog, enjoying the wind against my skin and the cool air in my lungs. I find the bow and arrow where we hid it yesterday, in the usual hiding place.

After a couple of hours and a number of practice shots, I eventually shoot a rabbit. Not a perfect shot by any means, but I kill it and I couldn't be happier. As I extract the arrow from its skull, I feel lighter. Things are returning to normal. I can start to hunt again. I just can't wait to tell Prim, my mother, Gale and, of course, Peeta. The independence is exhilarating. I place the rabbit in my game bag and return the bow and arrows to their hiding place.

There is a chill in the wind. Despite dawn having come hours before, the heavy sky lets only a little light permeate it, leaving the atmosphere dim and ominous. I tread briskly towards the 'electrified' fence with a new spring in my step, occasionally checking that the dead rabbit is still in my game bag - that it did happen, that it's not just a wonderful dream.

I slide myself between the wires of the fence, but something stops me. My woolen scarf is caught on a broken protruding wire. At first, I pull to free myself but it doesn't budge, so I yank harder. I hear a ripping sound as I loose my footing and stumble to the ground. "Shit," I mutter under my breath. A small piece of my scarf is still attached to the wire fence flapping perilously in the wind. I stand, brush myself off and remove the material from the fence and place it in my pocket. Small, feather-light snowflakes begin to fall and I can't help but feel excited. Winter can be tough hunting-wise, but the snow can sometimes make tracking animals easier. I smile to myself and childishly stick out my tongue to catch snowflakes. I turn slowly and laugh before closing my mouth and shake my head at my frivolous immaturity. I turn on my heels to head home. However, without warning, I walk straight into something tall, white and hard. I look up. _A Peacekeeper._ My stomach sinks and my heart rate falters.

"Identify yourself!" the Peacekeeper shouts. I'm utterly speechless as my hand instinctually and stupidly clutches my game bag. _Should I lie? _"Identify yourself, immediately!" the Peacekeeper shouts again. He is thin, middle-aged and clean-shaven; his icy-blue eyes are cold and emotionless.

"She's Katniss Everdeen," a familiar voice speaks. I turn to see Darius and relief washes over me. He avoids eye contact, however, which makes me feel uneasy. "She's from the Seam," Darius adds.

The other Peacekeeper snorts, "I can tell." He looks at me in disgust. "Anything past that fence is out of bounds, which means you've been trespassing on Capitol land," the tall Peacekeeper says mechanically.

I remain silent. Anything I say now will probably just get me into more trouble. "Search her," he commands. Darius jumps into action and approaches me. He removes my bag from my shoulder and places it to the side. He takes my jacket from me and searches the pockets. The cold air seeps through my thin cotton shirt. I try to make eye contact with Darius, but his eyes remain downcast and concentrated on the search. "Remove your boots," he orders me coldly. I do as I am asked. He examines each boot in turn. I feel vulnerable standing in the snow without a jacket and no boots. He runs his hands down my sides and up and down my legs. "There's nothing," Darius says to the icy-blue eyed Peacekeeper.

"Check the bag," Icy-blue says. Darius' eyes flicker to mine for a split second and I realize he was hoping that Icy-blue would not notice that he hadn't searched the bag. Darius knew that whatever was in my bag was going to incriminate me further. He reluctantly reaches for the bag and flips it open. My heart rate speeds up and I bite my tongue, wondering how painful it must be to be turned into an Avox, to lose your tongue, to not be able to speak. Darius slowly pulls out the dead rabbit, holding it up by its hind legs.

"Can you explain this, Miss Everdeen?" Icy-blue questions, taking a closer look at the rabbit.

"I…I found it," I lie, a terribly transparent lie.

"Looks to me like it has been shot with an arrow…" I begin to shiver, partly from fear and partly from the cold. I eye my jacket, which is now on the ground next to my discarded boots.

"I need to speak to Head Peacekeeper Cray," I say, with more conviction than I anticipated. Cray trades at The Hob; he will sort this out, as he usually turns a blind eye.

Icy-blue's laugh is just as cold as his stare. "Cray hasn't been Head Peacekeeper for a few weeks now. You'll be answering to the new District 12 Head Peacekeeper, Romulus Thread." I am shocked. _When?_ I was not aware that Cray was no longer Head Peacekeeper. _Why didn't anyone tell me?_ Peeta did mention that there were new Peacekeepers, but he didn't say anything about Cray. I swallow thickly. "Trespassing and poaching on Capitol land is strictly against the law and punishable by whipping." I nearly fall down at Icy-blue's last assertion. _Whipping?_ Not as bad as being turned into an Avox, but still terrifying. "Put on your boots and jacket," Icy-blue orders me. Darius throws my jacket at me and continues to look down at the ground. The falling snow has dampened my hair and shirt and my socks are sodden.

Once I'm dressed, there's an unnerving silence. "Cuff her," Icy-blue orders. Darius walks behind me and grabs my wrists, cuffing them together behind my back. The metal cuffs are cold against my skin. Darius leans into me. "I'm sorry," he whispers. I pretend not to hear him.

Panic and humiliation. The impending doom of a probable whipping and the stares of passersby as Darius and Icy-blue march me through the main town towards the rarely used whipping post. As a child, I had often looked at the whipping post and wondered whether it was just for show, a symbolic deterrent, a wagging warning finger against those who dare to break the Capitol's laws. My mother said that when she was younger the post was often used, but since Cray, it has stood forgotten. Well, Cray has gone and times have changed, all without my notice and here I am, the first person to be publicly flogged since who knows when.

I'm standing by the post, my wrists bound together behind my back. Darius stands beside me. Icy-blue has disappeared only to return a few moments later with another Peacekeeper I do not recognize. I notice the Head Peacekeeper badge and uniform. This must be Romulus Thread. He looks older, stocky, with receding grey hair, a face that says _I'm a stickler for the rules_, a true Capitol supporter.

People have begun to notice that something is up. A growing crowd is forming around the whipping post. I look amongst the sea of faces and I do not recognize anyone. There are mainly merchants, their blue eyes and blonde hair bright against the backdrop of the falling snow. I notice a few people from the Seam, but not many. I'm visibly shaking, mainly from nerves as I watch Icy-blue talk quietly to Thread. My slaughtered rabbit is presented to him and Thread's eyes narrow. Other Peacekeepers are dotted around the crowd, ordering people to stand back as more and more gather to see what is happening.

A few moments' later, Thread walks up to me. I flinch when he speaks.

"I've just been informed that you've been witnessed trespassing and poaching on Capitol land. Is that true?"

"I didn't realize I was trespassing," I lie instantly. Thread's jaw clenches ever so slightly. I'm a terrible liar.

"Ignorance is not a defense, Miss Everdeen," Thread says. "And how can you explain this rabbit? It appears to have been shot, in the head, with an arrow?"

I look at the rabbit, which is now being held up close to my face. I try to remain calm.

"Where would I get a bow and arrow from?" I reply, feigning nonchalance. What worries me is that a lot of people in District 12 are aware of my skills with a bow and arrow. People talk, but it doesn't mean Thread already knows about my illegal meat trade. I'm taking a massive risk.

Thread laughs contemptuously. "You are either very stupid or incredibly brave, Miss Everdeen." I swallow thickly. Thread continues, "I was going to take it easy on you, but your blatant lies have cost you dearly." He passes the dead rabbit to Darius. Icy-blue has suddenly appeared with the whip, a long, thin, black thing, which appears to be made out of leather. The whip flips and turns like a lazy snake. Thread holds the thicker, harder handle in his left gloved hand, the other end of the whip eventually rests on the ground, thin like the end of pig's tail and as sharp as a knife.

A hear whispers of shock from the crowd. I chance a look at Darius, but he stares straight through me like I'm not even there.

"20 lashes for trespassing and 20 lashes for poaching on Capitol land," Thread doesn't look pleased by this, but he is following the rules, the laws of the Capitol.

"That's too much, you'll kill her!" a man's voice shouts from the crowd. Thread turns to the source of the interruption. A couple of Peacekeepers tackle a man and drag him away. He continues to shout. "You'll kill her! Don't do it! She'll die!" The voice is silenced by a loud thud and fear's grip on me is so intense that I can no longer stand; I fall to my knees.

Thread turns to face me. "A warranted punishment for someone who lies in the face of the Capitol!" The crowd is now eerily silent. No one dares to speak, except for a familiar voice that makes my heart ache. _Peeta._

"Katniss!" Peeta is running towards me.

"Peeta, go home," I try to shout but my throat is so tight I can scarcely whisper. I can't bear to think what might happen to him if he gets in the Peacekeepers' way.

Peeta stands between Thread and me. I close my eyes, wishing that this were just some terrible nightmare. "I'll take the punishment," Peeta says breathlessly.

"Is this your friend?" Thread questions. As before, Thread does not look pleased about this situation; it's as if he is doing his duty, forced to adapt like Darius. Peeta turns to look at me. I shake my head, a sorry attempt to ask him to save himself. He shakes his head back in reply. He is not going to listen to me, and I sigh out a heavy breath. He turns back to face Thread.

"I love her. Please, let me take her punishment," Peeta begs. Thread looks as if he is evaluating the proposition.

My voice returns. "No, Peeta. Please don't do this." Peeta bravely walks over and kneels in front of me. I feel the tears I had been holding onto start to trickle down my cheeks. Peeta's misty breath is warm against my cold skin. He removes his gloves and cups my cheek with his right hand. "Peeta," I whisper, his face a teary blur. Peeta runs his thumb over my bottom lip and I desperately want my arms freed so I can wrap them around him.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta whispers. I shake my head. It's not his fault. The Capitol and their tyrannical laws are the only ones to blame.

"Remove him!" Thread shouts suddenly. We both realize that Peeta's plea to take my place will not be granted. Two Peacekeepers stride towards us.

"You'll be okay," Peeta reassures me. He kisses me chastely on the lips and rests his forehead on mine. "Remember that I love you."

I nod and I say it. I finally say it back. "I love you too, Peeta."He looks at me sadly as Darius and Icy-blue hoist him up by the arms and escort him away. I need to be brave.

"Remove her jacket, scarf and shirt, and cuff her to the post," Thread orders Darius. _Why Darius?_ Darius looks paler than usual as he walks over to me. He pulls me to stand and uncuffs my wrists. I'm too panic-stricken to feel the relief of getting the movement of my arms back. It won't be for long, anyway. Darius removes my jacket and scarf from me and then to my horror, he pulls my shirt over my head, leaving me in only my bra. I instinctually cover my chest with my arms and feel the cold air and feather-light snowflakes lick at my exposed skin.

Darius faces me and grabs my wrists, prying my arms from my chest. He twists them painfully, forcing me to turn so he can grip my wrists behind my back again. He walks me towards the whipping post, a large thick piece of dark wood with cuffs lining either side.

"Kneel down, Katniss," Darius orders. The use of my first name makes me hate him for what he is doing, but I know that he is just following orders. He is looking after himself, his family. I would probably do the same in his situation, anything to survive.

I kneel down and Darius takes one of my arms and cuffs it to the post, followed by the other so it's as if I am hugging it, my cheek pressed against the rough wood. Once I'm strapped in, Darius steps away. I feel vulnerable, exposed and terrified.

My knees dig into the hard ground and I already feel my muscles aching from holding this awkward position. There is still silence from the crowd and I look up to see the tense, sorrowful faces of men and women, merchant and seam. I suddenly notice a man holding three fingers to his lips and raising his hand towards me. My heart jolts inside my chest as the rest of the crowd begins to follow suit. It's a gesture that I have rarely seen used, probably only at funerals. They are saying goodbye. It's then that I realize that I'm probably going to die.

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**Thank you for reading -** **PLEASE REVIEW - I love to hear what you think.**

**Major cliff-hanger, but don't worry, chapter 9 is on its way very soon.**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

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Chapter 9

I close my eyes tightly and listen to my wild, terrified breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. The first strike of the whip against my bare skin is indescribable agony. It's as if a serrated knife has sliced directly into me, wounding my resolve. I gasp in pain and lean firmly against the wooden post, the thick metal cuffs dig sharply into my wrists. Thread must be experienced in corporal punishment because the next flick of the whip hits the same spot on my back, intensifying the pain. By the fifth blow, I finally scream and tears begin to flow down my cheeks. My back and shoulders are burning as if actual, tangible flames are scorching my delicate skin. The whip viciously bites me again and again, feasting on my savaged flesh.

Eventually, I lose count of the whip's strikes and the only sound I can hear is my heart pounding hard and fast. I begin to feel a warm sensation trickle down my sides and stomach as the metallic stench of blood reaches my nostrils. I'm bleeding. I begin to feel light headed and my throat is sore. All I can hope is that Prim is not here to see this, to see me defenseless and humiliated. It pains me to know that Peeta is probably watching. I hate them - the Peacekeepers, Romulus Thread, Darius, President Snow, the Capitol. I hate them all.

It feels like an eternity until I begin to lose consciousness. My vision becomes blurred, the shapes and forms of the people watching become indistinct, and then gradually begin to fade; a slow, timeless ebbing as numbness sets in. I pass out, surrounded by the sickening stench of blood.

_I'm in a room I do not recognize. It is white, gloriously white and clean and fresh. Large white paneled doors open to a veranda. A reassuring, warm light shines through and the smell of the fragrant air is intoxicating. Plants, trees, pinecones, freshly cut grass, the woods on a summer day, that's what I can smell. _

_I turn away from the open doors and notice a large, ornate mirror on the wall. I eagerly walk to it, wanting to see myself. The last thing I recall was being tied to a wooden post and being beaten half-naked, blood seeping from my torn skin. So I'm shocked when I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is down in soft, brown waves, healthy looking, nothing like my normal limp strands. I'm wearing a silken white robe, tied loosely at the waist, which falls just above my knee. My body is free from cuts and bruises. I touch my hand to my forehead, which is smooth and blemish free. No scar. Nothing. _

_I startle when I see Peeta's reflection in the mirror a few paces behind me. He has a gentle smile on his face and is wearing a white t-shirt and pants, which makes his startling blue eyes stand out even more. He looks clean and safe and warm. He holds out his arms to welcome me and I excitedly launch myself into his comforting embrace. I hold on tightly._

"_Peeta," I breathe into the crook of his neck, relishing his familiar scent and his name on my tongue. He is silent and holds me firmly; his calm, steady breaths are pleasant against my skin. His strong arms are safe and I need him to protect me. I'm tired of the pain, the hunger and the suffering. I want to stay here in this strange world, in Peeta's arms, forever. _

"_You're safe now." His voice is strong, reassuring. I pull away to question our whereabouts but Peeta's lips are soft against mine. I whimper as his tongue slips into my mouth and his hands untie my robe. Peeta pulls away and I notice that he is scar free, too. I smooth my hands over his arms, where his burn scars used to be and then take his hands in mine bringing them to my waist. His touch against my stomach weakens my knees and he tugs me so I am flush against him, my bare breasts press against his firm chest. Tentatively, Peeta slips the robe from my shoulders and the silken material flutters to the floor, pooling at my feet. He takes my hand and pulls me towards a bed, which I hadn't noticed before. Despite the unfamiliarity and unpredictability of our surroundings, I completely trust Peeta. _

_We stand beside the bed as a warm breeze flutters through the room. "Take off your clothes, I want to feel your skin against mine," I say huskily. Peeta smiles suggestively whilst he unbuttons his pants and pulls them off along with his white boxer shorts. He is already hard. I help him remove his t-shirt and I run my hands down his muscled stomach, towards his erection. I take his cock in my hand and begin a rhythm I know he likes. _

"_I don't want to come yet," Peeta groans as his hand reaches for mine, stopping my ministrations. _

"_Lie down with me then," I say, looking at the soft white covers of the large bed. Peeta pulls back the sheets and sits, resting his back against the white padded headboard and I eagerly climb onto his lap, straddling him. I begin to rotate my hips, rubbing my heated core against his erection. Peeta's hands move confidently over my legs, my waist, and my unscathed back. He sits up, pulling me to him whilst his mouth is hot and wet against my sensitive breasts. _

"_I love you, Peeta," I pant. He doesn't reply, I already know the answer. "I want you to make love to me," I say. Without hesitation, Peeta moves and gently lowers me onto the soft pillows. This time I need it to be slow and sensual. I need us to take our time, to treasure each moment, every touch. He is confident and strong as he parts my knees and slips a finger inside me; I bite my lip as he dips his finger into me several times before spreading my wetness over my clit. I shudder as Peeta kisses down the valley between my breasts, across my stomach and settles his face between my legs. I whine in pleasure as Peeta's lips and then his tongue press against my core. My fingers clutch into his hair as he feasts between my thighs, sucking and licking my swollen flesh. I come in a matter of minutes, panting Peeta's name over and over. When I open my eyes, he is sitting between my wide-open legs, gazing between them, licking my moisture from his lips. He looks into my eyes, "Peeta, please," I pant, "make love to me." Without a moments hesitation he is leaning over me, this throbbing erection teasing my entrance. _

"_You can have anything you want, Katniss," he says. I move my hips to meet his as he guides himself into me. He is gentle and the pleasure is invigorating. Suddenly, the comfort I feel starts to fade, only to be replaced by pain. Irrefutable agony shoots straight through my soul and it's as if I am falling. I grasp onto Peeta's shoulders, trying to hold onto safety. He stops his slow, rhythmic thrusts, but remains buried inside me._

"_Katniss?" he questions worriedly. I don't want to leave. I'm happy here. "Katniss?" Peeta's voice is more frantic this time. "Please, don't leave me." Peeta's words break my heart as pain sears across my back and shoulders. I hear him repeat my name over and over again. The white room begins to fade, but Peeta's voice rings in my ears loud and clear._

"Katniss! Katniss!" I can barely open my eyes, which are swollen from crying. I'm still handcuffed to the rough wooden whipping post; my back feels tight and my whole body is stiff. I hear gunshots, screams, and Peeta's voice. He is beside me**, **somewhere close. "Untie her!" Peeta shouts. Darius is suddenly in front of me, frantically unbuckling the cuffs, his bloody hands shaking profusely. There is also blood on his once perfectly white Peacekeeper uniform and his pale, fearful face looks a thousand years old. A loud explosion startles me and I begin to pull at the cuffs. "Hurry!" Peeta shouts, but I still can't see him.

"Peeta?" I murmur almost silently, but he hears me.

"I'm here, Katniss." Suddenly my arms are freed and I lean over struggling to catch my breath. I try to sit up, but my body weighs a tone. Darius takes one more pained look at me before running in the other direction towards a large group of people, an array of white peacekeeper uniforms and dark clothing. Smoke and snow distort the puzzling scene before me as strong arms hoist me up. "Come on." I finally see Peeta, smears of blood stain both of his cheeks like war markings. I'm wobbly on my legs and the painful tightness on my back stops me from standing up fully. Peeta's warm coat is wrapped around me and I'm suddenly lifted off my feet. The world spins and I scream as the pain in my back becomes too much to bear. Everything is a blur of rising smoke and heavy snowflakes. Explosions, shouting, gunshots and cries of anger resonate around me, but then begin to fade further and further away, until the only sounds are Peeta's heavy footsteps and my whimpers of pain.

Although my back is on fire, the rest of my body shivers from the cold. I catch a glimpse of Peeta's strained features as he carries me, his cherry red cheeks puff in and out from exertion. A few moments later, he suddenly stops walking and I don't know where we are.

"Help!" Peeta shouts. "Mrs. Everdeen! Prim!" His voice is panicked and tearful. I hear the familiar sound of my front door opening.

"What happened?" I hear my mother's concerned voice first and then see her worried face.

"Katniss! She needs help!" Peeta's voice vibrates loudly as he cradles me in his arms.

My mother hurries into the house and Peeta follows. I hear cutlery being moved.

"What happened?" my mother asks again. She is calm despite the scene before her.

"They caught Katniss hunting…the Peacekeepers whipped her…" Peeta is breathless and I hear Prim gasp dramatically. _Was Prim here all along?_

"Help me put her on the table, on her front," my mother orders. The pain is unbearable and I wish that I would just pass out again. After a lot of screaming from me, I'm lying on my front on the kitchen table, while Peeta's blood soaked coat lies on the floor.

"Oh my God," Prim is gasping and whimpering. I reach out and find Peeta's hand. He bends down and brings his face close to mine; his shirt is red with my blood.

"Like I said before," he whispers to me, "you're going to be okay." I hear sloshing water and there is a strong antiseptic smell, which burns my nostrils. My eyes dart around searching for clarity. "Look at me," Peeta tells me. I look straight into his eyes and he grasps my hand. "You can squeeze as hard as you want." I feel puzzled as I grip onto him. Suddenly, searing pain wracks my body as my mother begins to clean my wounds. I hold onto Peeta's hand tightly with what little strength I have left. _I can't believe that I've survived 40 whiplashes._

"Prim, go outside and gather some snow. We can make snowcoat," my mother orders.

"But that won't be enough!" Prim shouts.

"Prim, you need to stay calm. Snowcoat is the best we can do. We're lucky it's snowing."

I hear Prim storm out the room. Peeta is still kneeling in front of me, brushing strands of hair away from my face. I jolt and flinch in pain as my mother washes the blood from my back. She carefully unhooks my bra and I continue to clasp Peeta's hand.

A few moments later, Prim returns with a large bucket of snow and I hear her mixing numbing agents with the contents. Everyone is silent, allowing my mind to whirr with questions. _Why were there gunshots and explosions? Why was Peeta shouting at Darius to untie me?_ _Why did Darius run off so panic-stricken?_ Something was going on that I was not aware of. I was out of it for a while, so something must have happened during that time. I try to speak, but my throat is raw. Peeta is caressing my cheek, soothing me, not caring that my mother and sister are there. Prim applies the snowcoat and I instantly feel the pain relief, but it is nowhere near enough to take it away fully.

The front door swings open and Gale walks in, accompanied by a young woman I recognize to be the Mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee. Madge and I were friends when we were younger, but the politics and the strict division of Merchant and Seam made it hard for us to associate with one another, as we grew older. She gasps when she sees me and hides her face against Gale's chest. I find it very strange behavior; I didn't even know Gale and Madge were friends.

"I can't believe you got caught, Catnip." Gale untangles himself from Madge and practically pushes Peeta out of the way to kneel beside me. Peeta's hand slips from mine.

"The new Head Peacekeeper is a tyrant," I croak jokingly, finally finding my voice. There is silence and Gale appears worried. He looks up to Peeta. "It's manic at the Justice Building. How'd you get her out?"

"After it all kicked off, I got one of the Peacekeepers to untie her."

"Darius," I add, feeling the snowcoat beginning to melt from the heat of my wounds. Gale briefly glances down at me and then looks back to Peeta.

"Did you see who did it?" Gale asks.

Peeta shakes his head. "No, it all happened so quickly. I had two Peacekeepers holding me down. After the eighteenth whip, all hell broke loose. The Peacekeepers restraining me just let go and ran off. Everyone was going nuts. I knew I had to get Katniss to safety," Peeta finishes.

"What happened?" I blurt out, needing to know more.

"Katniss, Madge has very kindly brought you some morphling," my mother interrupts. At this point, I don't care about the pain or that morphling is as rare as fairy dust; I have just realized I was only whipped eighteen times and something very major is going on.

"No, I want to know what has happened!" I try to sit up, but the pain is excruciating and I remember that I don't have anything covering my chest, so I lie back down on my front.

"Thread was assassinated," Madge states almost proudly. "Whilst you were being whipped …the arrow…just came out of nowhere." There is silence. I am shocked, not only by the fact that Thread was killed, but that he was shot with an arrow. "Straight through the head, just like the rabbit you poached. Luckily, he wasn't wearing his helmet," Madge laughs bitterly.

I remembered why I like Madge; she hates the Capitol just as much as Gale and I do. And then it dawns on me - _who in this district knows how to shoot a bow and arrow?_ There is me obviously, along with Gale and Prim, but both of them are terrible shots and they look as shocked as I do right now at this revelation. It's crazy to think that there is someone else out there who can not only shoot a bow and arrow, but who also has the gall to kill a Peacekeeper, the Head Peacekeeper at that. I flinch as I feel a needle dig into my skin.

"The morphling will calm her down," my mother says, talking as if I'm not even there. Gale has moved away and Peeta is back in front of me, sitting on one of the wooden chairs. I'm not sure whether the morphling is making me feel calmer or just Peeta's presence, or maybe it's both.

"Katniss, I think you should rest," he says, kissing my nose and stroking my cheek. I don't care that my mother, Prim, Gale and Madge are watching.

"Peeta?" I ask.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for bringing me home."

"Of course," he smiles sadly.

"I love you," I tell him, meaning every single word.

Peeta takes my hand. "I love you, too." My heart swells with warmth and I'm well aware of the silent spectators. I close my heavy eyelids, the pain and intrigue gradually fades and I drift into a dreamless, morphling-induced sleep.

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**Another cliffhanger! Who do you think killed Thread? - PLEASE REVIEW. **

**Chapter 10 is in progress - your suggestions would be most helpful.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

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My eyes flutter open when I feel Peeta's hand caress my cheek. My torn skin feels heavy and tight, but there is no pain.

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice is soft and I hum in reply, too weak and lethargic to speak. "It'll be more comfortable on the bed." I am still lying on the kitchen table but it doesn't matter where I am. I can't actually feel anything at the moment; the morphling is working a treat.

"I need to bandage her first," my mother chimes in. Peeta helps me into a sitting position and I laugh as my legs dangle childishly off the edge of the table. I look up to see Peeta standing before me and I'm stunned as his eyes are a kaleidoscope of a thousand blue skies. I must've been in a daze because I'm startled when my mother starts taping some padding across my back. Peeta covers my bare chest with a soft blue blanket, trying to help me maintain any shred of modesty that I have left.

"All done," my mother stands, admiring her handiwork. "I think she's a little drunk on the morphling, but it'll wear off soon. Luckily, Madge has given us enough for the next few days; otherwise she'd be in a lot more pain."

"Shall I help her to the bed?" Peeta questions.

"Yes, make sure she is sitting up or lying on her front."

"Come on, Katniss," Peeta takes my hand in his and I slide off the table onto my unsteady legs.

I stand next to the bed, gripping onto Peeta as Prim enters the room carrying a pile of folded clothes.

"Do you want to help her change or should I?" Prim asks.

"Peeta'll do it, won't ya, Peeta?" I smirk at the sound of my own drunken declaration.

Prim arches an eyebrow as she assesses me. "Katniss, you're as high as a kite," she chuckles as she places the folded material onto the neatly made bed. "I guess I'll leave you to it then." I notice Prim's messy braid and tired eyes as she walks out the room. A few seconds later, Peeta begins unbuttoning my blood stained pants and I watch him carefully unzip them.

"You're good at undressing me, you know that?" I slur.

"I've had a lot of practice," Peeta replies earnestly, whilst pulling my pants down and bending over to help me lift out one leg, followed by the other. He folds my pants and places them on the floor beside the bed. Someone must've removed my boots earlier, as I am barefoot. Peeta helps me slip on my grey sweatpants and the skin on my legs and arms prickle from the chill in the air.

"Sit," he instructs me calmly and I lower myself onto the bed. The events of the day are worrying me, but I can't focus because of the morphling. At the moment, the light in the room seems ten times brighter and Peeta's presence is distracting. As he sits beside me, I notice he is still wearing my dried blood.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. I clutch the blue blanket tightly to my breasts and shake my head.

"I'm worried."

"Me, too," Peeta takes the blanket and motions for me to lie on my front. As soon as I'm resting comfortably, he pulls the bed sheet over me, leaving my bandaged back exposed. He then lies next to me on the small double bed. I rest my cheek against the soft cotton pillow and gaze at Peeta, who is staring anxiously at the ceiling.

"Do you think they'll come after us?" I ask. This is my main concern. The whipping, combined with Thread's murder, has ignited a riot in District 12. _Will they come to finish me off, or worse, hurt the people I love? _I feel a sudden responsibility weighing me down. This whole thing is my fault_. Why did I have go hunting? _Peeta moves onto his side so he is facing me and runs his fingers over my arm, tickling my skin.

"I don't know… but I promise, Katniss, I will never let anyone hurt you again." Peeta's brow is furrowed in determination as he edges closer to me, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder.

"Don't make impossible promises," I whisper.

"You need to rest," Peeta says.

"Stay with me?" I ask.

"I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

_It's not me that is tied to the whipping post, it is Peeta. Shirtless and with blood dripping down his back, Thread lashes the whip against him again and again. I run to his side. Suddenly, Darius points a gun at me and I freeze. "You can't save him, Katniss," Darius says maliciously. He moves the gun, points it at Peeta and pulls the trigger…it's too late._

I wake up in a cold sweat as pain wracks my body. I'm hyperventilating, partly from my horrible nightmare and mostly from the searing pain in my back.

"Peeta!" I shout. He is not beside me, yet he promised he would be here. I feel sick from pain, so I stand up, which was probably not the best idea. The door opens and Peeta comes rushing in.

"I needed the bathroom," Peeta explains. His eyes widen when he sees the look of agony on my face.

"It hurts!" I cry. Peeta leaves the room and reenters with my mother at his heels. He grabs me, and my mother injects me in the arm. It happened so fast, I didn't even see the needle. The pain uncoils itself and I melt into Peeta as he helps me lie down on the bed. Within seconds, I fall asleep.

I wake again sometime later, but I keep my eyes closed.

"I'm not sure, a few weeks?" That's Prim's voice. "I'm worried that they might come to get her."

"I think they have bigger fish to fry at the moment, but let's not get complacent," Peeta replies. There is a long silence and I feel someone's hand brush against my arm.

"Cover her with the blanket," Prim says. I feel the blanket being tugged over me and I am grateful for the extra warmth.

"Aren't your parents worried about you?" Prim questions. I want to snort at the thought of Peeta's mother. _Bitch!_

"They won't miss me," he replies sadly. "Plus, I promised Katniss I wouldn't leave." My heart warms and I want to kiss him. "Anyway, I don't think they'd want me back after my public declaration."

"You really love her, don't you?" Prim says wistfully. "I can't believe they showed the whole thing on the Capitol news." My ears prick up at this new information.

"I guess they wanted to use Katniss's whipping as a deterrent. Well, they weren't bargaining on the shooting and the riot, I'll bet that showed them up," Peeta chuckles contemptuously.

"They undoubtedly cut that bit out," Prim mumbles.

"You're probably right."

"Gale said they did broadcast you begging to take her place, though." They both fall silent.

"Prim, I need your help. People are starting to bring in the wounded from the riot, so we need to set up the living room." It's my mother. I realize that I am probably not the only casualty. _I wonder how many people have lost their lives because of me? _"Peeta, if she wakes up in pain, just inject her with the morphling. You remember how I showed you?"

"Yes, don't worry, I'll take care of her," Peeta's voice is resolute. There are hurried footsteps and I can hear shouts and moans of pain from outside my window. I shudder. Here I am doped up on morphling, whilst other people are suffering.

"Give her the morphling," I say, opening my eyes to the darkness of the room. The only light source is a single lit candle flickering on my bedside table.

"Katniss, you're awake," Peeta says, startled. He is standing by the window wearing a large green sweater, something I have never seen him wear before.

"Give my mother the morphling for the other patients."

"What? No, Madge brought it for you," Peeta implores.

"I'm sure there are others who need it more than I do right now," I flinch as my most recent dose begins to wear off. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I cover my chest with the blanket and Peeta sits beside me.

"Are you sure?" I look at him determinedly and nod. The moans of pain are now inside the house and our kitchen and main living area must be strewn with the injured.

"Please, take it," I point towards the vials of morphling sitting beside the candle, its light flickering manically. Peeta doesn't question further, he takes the vials and opens the door to my bedroom, the volume of cries and shrieks intensifies and he is gone.

I clench the blanket tightly and close my eyes, feeling the pain trickle slowly through my body. A few moments later, Peeta returns, his face pale and gaunt.

"How bad is it?" I ask as he collapses on the bed, sighing deeply. He stares off into nothingness. "Peeta?" I query again. He shakes his head and moves to face me; the mattress springs squeak, a familiar sound, usually heard during our lovemaking. I crawl to him and rest my head on his chest, extending my arm around his waist. Ever so gently, Peeta traces his fingertips across my arm, a little comfort I am grateful for.

A few hours later, sweat pours from my skin as I try to fight against the pain. Prim enters the room, blood staining her dress and the look of suppressed horror in her eyes. As she changes my bandages and padding, she tells us that people have been shot, many lost limbs from the exploding bombs, some even their lives. After she leaves, I clutch Peeta's hand tightly, "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "You just need to concentrate on healing." I don't feel like concentrating on myself or my pain, especially when there are other people out there dying, all because of my carelessness. Peeta looks exhausted, but his eyes are wide as he listens to the commotion outside the bedroom door. Despite the pain, I eventually fall into a restless sleep.

The next few days are an endless cycle of torture. The skin on my back begins to heal, but every time I move, I feel the skin rip open and fresh blood bubble to the surface. My mother orders that I'm not to move from my front, just to give my skin some time to heal properly. More importantly, District 12 is on full lockdown. Many of the coal miners were injured that day so the mines are closed, and many stay in their homes. This means that food is scarce. The constant hunger does nothing to abate my agonizing pain.

On the fifth day following the riot, Peeta goes to visit his family. I wait by the window for him to return, watching small snowflakes fall gently to the ground outside. Prim sits behind me, rubbing a homemade antiseptic ointment into my healing wounds. I hold the same blue blanket to my chest. The constant battle against the pain is making me feel tired and I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching my hot breath condense against it. Even if we had the energy to talk, there is nothing else left to say. There is no food, and an impending doom hovering above us; talking about it would just make it all the more real.

I sit up slightly when I see Peeta's hunched form trudging through the snow towards the house. "Peeta's back," I say, my voice weak from pain and hunger. Prim moves to open the door and I sit silently as she takes his coat. The smell of fresh bread makes my stomach twist and saliva pools into my mouth. Peeta hands a bag to Prim, "Last of the loaves at the bakery," he sighs.

"We'll have tea with it," Prim states, obviously remembering when I brought the bread home that time we were about to starve to death after my father died. She wanted to eat it then and there, but I made tea and we ate it slice by slice. Peeta washes his hands at the sink and then makes his way to me, taking the ointment and continuing to apply it to my sore skin.

"Did you speak to your parents?" I question, flinching.

"My mother said I had to choose between you or my family," Peeta replies.

"And what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything, I just took the bread and left."

I turn to Peeta and his fingers are slick with ointment. "I'm sorry," I say.

"I'd always choose you, it's a no brainer," he smiles sadly. I press my lips to his and let go of the blanket covering my chest, reaching my hands around his neck. I don't want to let go. The pain in my heart aches for Peeta, for Prim and my mother, along with everyone in District 12. _Where do we go from here?_ We can't hunt anymore - Gale said that the electric fence is on 24 hours a day and the whole district is swarming with Peacekeepers. This is our punishment for rebelling. Starvation. I pull away to catch my breath. "They have stopped all trade from the other districts. The bakery hasn't received any rations since the riot, nor have the other merchants," Peeta says. I can't bear to hear this, so I kiss Peeta again, tears of frustration trickle down my cheeks and mingle between out lips. Peeta pulls away this time. "They're not going to defeat us, we're not going to give up," Peeta's attempt at consoling me is empty, as we both know that there is little hope of change. Even if they lift the trade ban, we will continue to be controlled by the merciless Capitol. Poverty will remain a form of power and we are doomed to remain a cog in their well-oiled machine.

Peeta kisses me on the nose and holds the blue blanket to my chest. "Try to cover yourself, otherwise I can't be held accountable for my actions," Peeta winks at me. Despite the physical and emotional pain and feelings of hopelessness, Peeta can still bring a smile to my face.

"I miss you," I whisper. Although we have been in each other's company for the last few days, we have not been intimate and I miss that connection terribly.

"I miss you, too," Peeta says as I splay my hand across his chest, trailing it down towards his crotch. Peeta groans quietly and removes my hand. "Katniss."

"I need you," I sound pathetic, but I don't care.

"You need to eat…" Peeta's eyes are ablaze, "Later, okay? We'll make it work." My heart rate increases. Having sex in my state is going to be quite a challenge, but I just want the pain to go away.

Peeta stands and helps me to the kitchen where Prim has served cups of warm tea and cut the hearty fruit and nut loaf into slices. My mother is already sitting at the table and we join her. We eat without talking; the only sounds are our ravenous chewing and slurping of tea.

Eventually, my mother speaks. "Did you see your parents, Peeta?" He nods. "You're more than welcome to stay, as long as they don't mind," my mother adds.

Peeta swallows his mouthful of bread. "Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen. My parents are quite happy for me to stay," I'm fed up with the lies, but it's not my truth to tell. "Are you alright with me staying in Katniss's room?"

I almost spit out the bread in my mouth. _What kind of question is that?_ He's been staying in my room since the whipping, so why is he asking her permission now? My cheeks flush.

My mother laughs. "Of course that's fine, you're both sensible adults." I look at Prim in shock and she is grinning. The rest of the meal is eaten in uncomfortable silence.

"You've always been a fast healer," my mother quips whilst inspecting my back. The wounds have stopped reopening and the skin is knitting itself back together. My mother rubs on a numbing cream concocted from what she had left in her apothecary bag. Once she has finished, Peeta helps me to my room and I sit on the bed. The rain outside is falling down in thick sheets, only intensifying my feelings of apprehension.

"I took some bread to Gale after I went to the bakery," Peeta mentions as he shuts the door.

"That's really nice of you. I'll bet Gale didn't want to accept it, though," I chuckle despondently. Gale hates charity just as much as I do, but he is far more pig-headed.

"No, he didn't. His mother accepted it in the end." My heart aches for Hazelle and Gale's younger siblings. How will they survive the punishment with so many mouths to feed?

Peeta sits next to me and I reach for his hand, letting the blue blanket fall to my lap. I place his warm hand to my breast and he automatically cups me, gently squeezing the flesh. My body is so sensitive and I moan his name. Peeta slides off the bed until he is kneeling on the floor between my legs, pressing soft kisses to my bare midriff. He makes his way to my breasts and suckles firmly on each of my nipples in turn. I pull at his blonde hair with both hands, trying to keep my pleasured whimpers silent.

After a few minutes, Peeta stands and removes his sweater and pants.

"Are you in pain?" he questions, pulling me into a standing position. I nod.

"I'm going to try my best to take it away, even just for few minutes," Peeta whispers huskily. I don't know what he is going to do. I can't lie on my back and my movements are very limited. Without warning, Peeta pulls down my pants and I step out of them. It's dark except for the small flickering candle, so I can't read his shadowy features. He steps closer to me so my nipples just graze his chest and I shiver with excitement. I tilt my head to allow him access to my neck and savor the feel of his mouth sucking gently on my pulse point.

"I love feeling your heartbeat," Peeta says pensively against my neck. I take his hand and press it to my chest, my heart hammering excitedly against my rib cage.

"Why?" I ask.

"During the whipping, I thought you were going to die. Your heartbeat means you're alive and that's all I care about." I press my ear against his chest to hear his heart beating and I am surprised how strong and steady it is, a complete contrast to mine.

"I'll lie on the bed. Do you think you can sit on my lap?" Peeta's voice is now a whisper. I think I can, but I'm not sure where this is leading.

"I don't think I can move too much, though" I say.

"You won't have to, I'll do all the work," I can see he is smiling.

"Okay, let's try it your way."

Peeta sits on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. I crawl over to, straddle his lap and sit back on his thighs, resting my hands on his shoulders. "Tell me if it's too much." I don't know what he is talking about until his hand moves between my legs and his middle and index fingers slip inside me. I grip his shoulders tightly. "You're so beautiful, I can't believe that I get to touch you like this," Peeta breathes. I find it funny that he is in such awe of me; I don't think I'm anything special, but Peeta obviously disagrees. I whimper in pleasure and soon start to forget about my pain, concentrating wholly on being touched. Peeta stops suddenly and I open my eyes, which I hadn't realized I closed in the first place. The light of the candle illuminates his face and I watch with amazement as he takes his moist fingers and licks my juices from them. "Peeta," I can't help my moan. "Shh," he chuckles. He returns his fingers to me and rubs my clit lazily. I hum in pleasure and begin to gently rock my hips in rhythm with his fingers. Within moments, the pleasure builds up to such a crescendo that I can't help but moan loudly and lasciviously. The look of lust upon Peeta's face combined with the movement of the muscle in his forearm as his fingers work me pushes me over the edge and I come, momentarily numb from the pain.

There is a loud banging at the front door, which we both ignore. My mother or Prim will answer it.

"You're amazing," Peeta smiles at me. My body trembles and all I want to do is lay back and fall asleep, but the pain is a stark reminder of my predicament.

Peeta shifts me so that I am lying on my front. He covers me and I realize the sheet against my back doesn't hurt like I thought it would.

There is an unexpected cry from outside my bedroom door. Peeta jumps up in only his underwear and strides out of the bedroom without a word. My heart is beating wildly. They have come, the Peacekeepers have finally returned to finish me off. The thought of Prim, Peeta and my mother being hurt forces me to act. I climb out of bed, put on my robe and walk hastily toward the sound of the crying.

"Don't hurt them, it's me you want…" my flustered plea fades as I take in the scene before me. Prim stands in the corner of the room, looking uncertain. Peeta is beside me and I can feel his eyes flitting between Prim, my mother, the stranger and me. Initially, I don't recognize the tall, thin man standing in the doorway. He has short black hair speckled with grey and wears brown animal furs wrapped around his shoulders as a coat. His leather boots are just like the ones I used to wear for hunting. The smell of fresh rain and pine seeps into the house and my breath catches when I see my mother uncontrollably weeping in the man's arms. I have only never seen her like this when my father died. And that's when it hits me like an arrow to the head. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be. The man stares at me; his eyes the same as mine, emotionless and intensely grey.

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	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins is the owner of this amazing trilogy and incredible characters.**

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my beta,C, for your help with this chapter.**

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Chapter 11

"Katniss," my father mutters. The sound of his gentle voice transports me back to my childhood, when he'd take me to the woods and teach me how to sing, to swim and to hunt. A lump wedges itself in my throat, thick and dry, and my fists clench tightly. He turns his gaze to Prim, who is hesitantly edging towards him, her bottom lip quivering. She must look so different to him now; the last time he saw her, she was only 8 years old. Now she is 18 and a fully-grown woman.

I flinch in surprise when Peeta whispers inquiringly into my ear, "Who is that?" My breathing accelerates, confused tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I don't know where to look: my father, Prim, Peeta, or the floor. I take a step back, shaking my head vigorously, as a wave of sickness washes over me. This can't be happening. I turn, push past Peeta and stagger into my bedroom.

I look around the room for something to throw or smash, to somehow release the years of pent-up pain and loss. I've had many nightmares about that day, the day my father was blown to bits in the coal-mining explosion, how he never emerged alongside the survivors. Instead of demolishing my room, I collapse on the bed and bury my face into the pillow to muffle my sobs. In frustration, I punch and thrash at the mattress. The tight, newly healed skin on my back stretches uncomfortably, but the physical pain is good. It feels liberating.

"Katniss, Katniss, calm down!" Peeta's hands are on me, holding onto my wrists and around my waist, pulling me to him. I don't resist and fall into the security of his strong arms.

"Who is that man?" he questions worriedly, brushing my messy hair away from my face. Shaking my head in disbelief, a single tear burns a path down my cheek.

"My father," I murmur. Peeta's grip tightens around me and I bury my face into his bare chest, the soft blonde hairs tickling my nose.

"I thought he was dead?" he questions, dumbfounded.

"So did I."

For the time being, Peeta and I are left undisturbed and I'm glad for it.

"You shouldn't be angry with him. You don't know why he left, there must've been a reason." Peeta is now fully dressed in jeans and a black long sleeved top, which again, I've never seen him wear before. I am so used to seeing him in his Mellark Bakery shirt that I forget he must have other clothes. Standing by the bedroom door, I listen and try to decipher the discussion in the kitchen between my mother and father and Prim.

"Katniss, you should see him, talk to him at least," Peeta continues. I know he is right and my heart rate increases just thinking about my father.

"Can you come with me?" I question. This whole situation must be incredibly awkward for Peeta, especially after standing in front of my whole family in just his underwear, but he has this ability to make me feel safe and I need him there with me.

"Of course," he replies, although the concerned look on his face does not dissipate. Stepping towards him, I press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"I love you," I whisper, enjoying the freedom of being able to say those words, the same words that took me so long to comprehend. I step back and Peeta's smile sends warmth throughout me, building strength within me that I didn't realize I had.

"I love you, too." A cold gust of air whistles through a gap in the bedroom window. I shiver and Peeta tightens the robe around me. "You should put some clothes on."

He helps me dress into my brown hunting pants and a green shirt. I absentmindedly watch him do up my shirt buttons, a task which I can now do for myself, but it's just another way for Peeta to show how much he cares.

"Ready?" he asks, after doing up the last button.

"Ready."

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and walk to the kitchen. Peeta stands steadfastly behind me as I set eyes upon my father, sitting at the table with Prim and my mother. He stands as soon as he sees me; the chair scratches loudly against the wooden floor as he pushes it back. Now that my mind is no longer clouded with shock, I get a better look at him. He looks older; grey peppers his hair, and the wrinkles in his face are more prominent. His cheeks are red from rosacea, but this skin is dark, the same color mine turns after long summer days hunting in the woods.

"Katniss…" he says, approaching me hesitantly. As soon as I look into his familiar grey eyes, my heart aches and, in this short moment, I do not care how or why he left. I allow myself to become an 11-year-old girl once again and clear the few paces between us. A sob escapes my throat as his arms wrap tightly around me. I try to ignore the pain in my wounds, but I involuntarily flinch. He loosens his grip and takes hold of my shoulders, staring deeply into my eyes.

"I barely recognized you when I saw you on the television," he shakes his head disbelievingly. _He saw me during the whipping_. My cheeks redden from the humiliation.

Suddenly, he turns to Peeta, who is still standing behind me. "Peeta Mellark," my father almost shouts. He lets out a big booming laugh, and steps towards a very shocked looking Peeta. "Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for my daughter, I can't even describe…it's made you famous, that's for sure." My father hugs Peeta and I turn incredulously to look at Prim who is grinning.

"Famous!" I splutter indignantly. "Who the hell cares? You left us! You left us to starve and now you come back, 10 years later might I add, to tell us that Peeta is _famous_?"

"You both are; throughout the districts, even the Capitol," my father adds.

"That still doesn't explain why you left!" I say through clenched teeth.

"I had to, Katniss. Sit down, I'll explain everything."

My father returns to his chair and Peeta and I sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

My mother and Prim busy themselves making tea. I cross my arms tightly and feel myself glaring at him. Everyone seems so happy, even my father. Surely, my mother and Prim remember the depression, the hunger, and the near starvation. All caused by the fact that my father left.

"Let me just say that leaving you, your mother and Prim was not supposed to happen, not for this long anyway." I try to swallow the huge lump which has reappeared in my throat. "Some of the other coal miners and I had, for many years, been trying to come up with a way to escape District 12. It was getting really bad, food was scarce and hunting in the woods was too much of a risk."

I snort resentfully at this explanation. "You remember how I used to tell you about the 13th District of Panem?" I nod, remembering my father telling me about District 13 on one of our winter hunting trips before he disappeared.

"You said that District 13 used to make nukes and guns, that it was destroyed by the Capitol during the first rebellion…" I watch as my father nods encouragingly, "But…it's still contaminated from the bombs and…you said it's uninhabitable."

"Supposedly," he adds, eyes wild with excitement. "Do you remember when we met the two fugitives from District 8, in the woods?" he pauses, allowing me time to rifle through my memories. I uncross my arms and rub my shaky hands up and down my thighs.

"No, I don't remember." My voice is rough and tight. My mother and Prim return with tea and a plate of unfamiliar dried meat, something my father must have brought with him. As my father sips his tea, Peeta takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Their names were Bonnie and Twill. They told us about the anomaly in the District 13 footage that the Capitol was televising, about the mockingjay that repeatedly flies across the corner of the screen. The Capitol didn't show us the current state of the district. It was all _old_ footage, replayed to us every year. That same mockingjay proved it."

"So, are you saying there_ is_ a District 13?" Peeta questions curiously, his hand gripping tightly on to mine.

My father nods. "But we weren't sure at the time. We needed to find a way to escape, to find out if Bonnie and Twill were right. So the coal miners came up with a plan, a diversion, where some of us would escape to the woods, to find District 13 and then come back for our families and perhaps start another rebellion, to bring down the Capitol…"

"Didn't you think the risk was too great?" I interject.

"It wasn't foolproof. Looking back on it now, it was a stupid idea and a terrible risk, but it was that or continue to stand by and watch people starve and be treated like animals." My mother and Prim are now sitting at the table, listening intently.

"John Hawthorne," my father says, shaking his head sorrowfully. "He was supposed to keep an eye on you whilst I was away, to make sure you had enough food…" I swallow thickly at Gale's father's name; I was hoping he was alive, too. My father shakes his head and looks at the plate of dried meat on the table. "He didn't survive the diversion. It when wrong, terribly wrong, but I escaped. I had to keep going, for the district, for our futures." He takes a piece of the meat and rips it apart hungrily with his teeth.

My father had a choice between staying with us or taking a slim chance that he might find a supposedly inhabitable place that might have people who could help support his pipedream of starting a rebellion.

"And you never thought about telling us about this, or warning us that you might be gone for a long time?" I hear the anger building in my voice. Peeta is squeezing my hand to keep me calm, but it doesn't work.

"I didn't want to tell you, to put you at risk," my father says calmly.

"Why has it taken you so long to come back?" Prim questions.

My father's eyes light up. "District 13 exists and we have been planning this rebellion for years, creating and developing mines and guns. I didn't want to put any of you in danger by returning… but, Katniss, your downright defiance against the Capitol's rules, Peeta sacrificing himself, saving you, and Thread's assassination, even the Capitol are going crazy for the star-crossed lovers of District 12. It's time, and we need you and Peeta; we need you _both_ to be the faces of the rebellion."

My father falls silent and all that can be heard is the loud wind whistling outside.

"Basically," I begin guardedly, "You have returned to recruit Peeta and me to join your life-long passion of getting back at the Capitol?" The venom in my voice is palpable. Now that I am an adult, it is finally clear that my father's hatred for the Capitol will always be stronger than the love for his family.

"You should do it," Prim's small voice interjects. I glare at my sister, who is staring forcefully at me. I turn to my mother, who is nodding wearily, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"They're all insane," I say to Peeta, his pale skin paler than usual, and his cheeks a slight tinge of red.

"_All_ of the districts watched the whipping?" Peeta questions, ignoring me and focusing on my father.

My father reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a small, silver cube-shaped device. He places it on the table and a triangle of light shines from it, creating strange colorful holographic shapes before us. My stomach twists when I realize it is a perfect three-dimensional replay of the whipping. My eyes widen as holographic Peeta rushes to holographic me, kneeling on the floor outside the Justice Building. It's as if we are watching a perfectly filmed movie. The camera does a close up of me, my scar angry and glaringly obvious, panic etched across my face as I fall to the floor. It pans out to Peeta shouting my name, standing between Thread and me. I close my eyes and listen, the memory still too fresh in my mind. _"I'll take the punishment,"_ I hear holographic Peeta call out.

"_Is this your friend?"_ Thread questions. I know what is coming next and I open my eyes and lean forward to stare at the close-up of holographic Peeta.

"_I love her. Please, let me take her punishment." _Prim sighs beside me as if she is watching a romantic movie on television.

I want to shout for it to stop, not wanting to see myself stripped of my shirt and being beaten, but it dawns on me that I will be able to see what happened whilst I was unconscious, and even find out who killed Thread.

Heat rises into my cheeks as we watch the love scene unfold; Peeta kneeling in front of me, running his thumb over my bottom lip, a quick pan of the audience watching sadly from the sidelines, then back to us. Peeta's apology and then the kiss; it's chaste, sweet, almost romantic. He rests his forehead against mine. The camera has zoomed in so close, making the moment seem all the more intense, and the only audible sounds are our heavy breathing.

"_Remember that I love you,"_ holographic Peeta says and I look at the real Peeta, knowing that what happens next is an intimate moment that should not have been seen by all of Panem.

"_I love you too, Peeta," _I hear my voice emanate throughout the kitchen. The real Peeta looks sadly at me before returning his gaze to the hologram.

Darius pulls off my shirt and I feel ashamed watching myself trying to conceal any shred of dignity I had left.

"I can't watch this," Peeta says, burying his face in his hands. I stare in awe as the crowd gives me the three-fingered salute. Thread begins the agonizing whipping and I almost pinpoint the exact moment I lose conscious. The camera takes turns doing close-ups of me and then of Thread, then me again, my blood dripping down my back and being soaked up by the snow covered ground. Then there are shrieks and the camera returns to Thread, who is now lying on the floor, an arrow protruding from his head. I gasp and Peeta looks up from his hands. We watch as people start pushing and fighting; the camera zooms in on Peeta escaping the peacekeepers and shouting at Darius to untie me. Peeta wraps me in his coat, lifts me up and carries me through the heavy snow. The hologram falters and flickers and the triangle of light fades back into the small silver cube, leaving us in the dim light of the flickering candles. There is an eerie silence.

"Who killed Thread?" I question, looking at my father. He shrugs.

"We don't know, but, who ever did, was both stupid and brave to take such a risk," he replies. My stomach sinks at not finding out who killed Thread, the person who ultimately saved by life.

My father continues, "Instead of rage over the assassination of Thread, the Capitol's people have fallen in love with the both of you. They are frivolous people who enjoy this type of thing: action, romance, and death. You are merely actors to them and they want to meet you. They want you to come to the Capitol…"

"How do you know all this?" I splutter.

"We have moles in all the districts. It has taken years to get to this point. When Coin found out that you were my daughter, she insisted that we get you and Peeta to District 13 immediately."

We sit in stunned silence.

"You have given other people in the districts hope, a strength to fight back…" I stare at my father who, at this moment, I scarcely recognize.

"Who's Coin?" Peeta questions.

"Alma Coin. She is the President of District 13, she is the one leading the rebellion. We should leave tonight, before the Capitol comes for you."

I stand up, "This is ridiculous! Why would the Capitol want us? Wouldn't they rather have us dead?" I laugh scathingly.

"Well, I'm sure President Snow would rather have you killed, but the Capitol's people wouldn't like that. I'm sure Snow realizes the impact you and Peeta are having on the other districts, as many are already rebelling. He needs you both to encumber the rebels…" My father's rant is cut off by a loud banging on the front door.

"Don't answer it," he whispers.

We fall deadly silent. Without a second warning, the door bursts open and 6 unfamiliar Peacekeepers come charging in, holding guns at the ready. My mother and father, Prim and Peeta stand. The loud scratching of wood against wood sends a shiver down my spine.

"Under the strict orders of President Snow, Miss Katniss Everdeen and Mr. Peeta Mellark are required in the Capitol immediately," says the smallest of the peacekeepers, most likely a woman.

"What if we say no?" my father contests, his grey eyes ablaze, as if he is thriving off the challenge.

"Then we will have to take them by force," the female peacekeeper says menacingly. I look at my father, who smiles.

"Fine, take them," he says flippantly. I glance at Peeta, who is staring defiantly at my father.

"Wait!" Prim shouts and runs to me, holding me tightly. "Don't forget the mockingjay," she whispers in my ear. I grip her firmly as the peacekeepers approach us. Prim lets go and stands to the side as two peacekeepers grab both of my arms and escort me towards the door. I look at my father, the same man I had not seen in 10 years and who is characteristically unrecognizable. He is smiling reassuringly at me, as if he knows something I don't. Anger rises within me and I fight against the peacekeepers' tight grip.

"I don't understand!" I shout.

My father looks on as I struggle despairingly; there is no trace of fear in his eyes.

"No!" I bellow before there is a snapping, clicking sound and a jolt of energy bites me. The pain makes me battle harder against the peacekeepers and another jolt is sent through me. This time, it's so intense, the world fades to darkness.

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